Life and Other Concepts
by DRCA9
Summary: An ensemble fic following our favorite band of misfits. Okay, so I don't really do well at summaries but check it out anyway, lol.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **Hello. This is my first little venture into the Glee world. Heretofore, I've been strictly a South of Nowhere fanfic author and wouldn't dare change that until a fairly recent turn (and thereafter mild obsession) with this fabulousness known as Glee. So, it was only a matter of time before I got bit by the writing bug and here I am. It's an ensemble fic so pretty much everybody on the show is in this and I'm mostly going to stay canon (pre-season 2). I would go on about endgame couples and such but that would take away from the fun of the story. Or, at least, I think it would. I hope the style of writing is easy to follow too. It's kind of setup like the shows tend to be with voice-overs and cut-aways for flashbacks, it's just hard to translate that via written text. Oh and major disclaimer because I don't own any Glee anything, except my DVDs and I will cut a bitch if you come for them.

I'm done.

P.S. A thousand thanks to my committee of BETAs for putting up with me and my annoying-ness.

P.P.S. Voice-overs will be in bold italics; flashbacks in italics only.

* * *

**Chapter One**

_**I know you're probably wondering why I look so chipper.**_

_**I'm usually the kind of girl who wears her heart on her sleeve and seeing as New Directions didn't place at Nationals and, despite my numerous attempts of reconciliation, Finn is still intent on pretending I don't exist, one would suspect me to be borderline suicidal.**_

_**I, however, am not.**_

_**This is a new year for me. **_

_**Sophomore year.**_

_**And I am focused on one thing and one thing only:**_

_**Me.**_

_**This is the new and improved Rachel Berry ladies and gentlemen; a take charge independent woman who does not need a man to define her.**_

_**This year, there will be no stopping me.**_

* * *

Azimio and Karofsky are just rounding the corner, full plastic cups in hand when they spot their target.

"Welcome back, Loser!" Azimio bellows, his slushy hitting Rachel dead on. Karofsky's hits just a few seconds after.

"Blueberry's totally your color, Berry," he adds, thinking he's being just a tad clever.

Well, it is pretty clever for him.

Rachel stomps off to the nearest girl's restroom, not even noticing Quinn and Sam as they're stood idly by.

Sam winces, clutching his book bag tighter. "God, I would so not want to be on the receiving end of one of those. It does _not_ look pleasant."

Quinn closes her locker with a shrug, seemingly uncaring, though it's clear by the set of her shoulders she's relieved that they're not still aiming for her. "I've never been hit with one but I hear they're pretty painful," she lies.

"Let me get those," he offers, snatching her books before she can even protest. "It's the boyfriend-ly thing to do, you know."

Quinn smiles brilliantly. "You don't have to be so chivalrous anymore. I'm already wearing your ring," she whispers, leaning up to dust a kiss into his cheek.

"Oh my God," they hear a voice say, "It is far too early in the morning for this."

Quinn pulls back and regards the other girl quietly, noting, for just a brief second, that's she's oddly devoid of a certain blonde counterpart.

Instead, Puck is clinging to the girl's arm.

It's a downgrade if you ask Quinn, but hey.

"Whatever, Lopez. No one's asking you to look," Quinn shoots back, hands on her hips. She's not entirely sure when she and Santana just started outright hating each other but she's not going to be the one who stops it.

Santana rolls her eyes. "Oh please, like I want to. I think the only reason I'm drawn to you two is because Evans looks more and more like one of those kids from _Village of the Damned_."

"Dude," Puck gasps, grabbing Sam's elbow. "Were you in that movie?"

"Come on, Sam," Quinn says, grabbing the boy's arm and dragging him off, but not before making sure to send one more scathing glare in Santana's direction.

* * *

"_What are you wearing?"_

"You know, if anybody else asked me that I might have to deck them. You're lucky I love you boy," Mercedes grins, adjusting her bracelets while looking into the mirror attached to the inside of her locker door.

Kurt's laughter shoots across the line. _"In an alternate universe, you do know you and I are married."_

"Mmm hmm. And let me guess, George Clooney officiated the ceremony."

"_Was he there really?"_

"Yep."

"_And we _still_ got married?"_

"Alternate uni Kurtie."

"_Unfair. Switch him to this one."_

"Boy, you are a trip," Mercedes laughs, closing her locker and coming face to face with…well, the Asians.

"Uh, Kurt…" she starts, looking back and forth between the pair, "I think I gotta go."

"What?" she asks, tucking her phone away.

"Hi," Mike says and nothing more and they're really starting to freak her out. She's not scared or anything because they're smiling but, you know how Asians are.

The synchronicity is scary.

"Mercedes," Tina starts, moving in a mirror-like fashion with Mike to throw an arm around the other girl's shoulders, "We know you miss Kurt."

"We miss him too," Mike adds, pouting a bit to emphasize his point.

"And while we may not be as fabulous," Tina continues, walking them down the hall.

"Or as gay," Mike again. His eyes widen. "I mean, or gay. I meant 'or gay'."

Mercedes shakes her head to hide a grin.

"Right," Tina states slowly, smiling a little at the way Mike's ears turn red. "Well, we just want you to know that you do have other friends," the girl finally finishes, beaming proudly at the end of her little speech.

"Us," Mike speaks up again, squeezing her shoulder companionably.

"Thanks guys," Mercedes says, enveloping them both in a three-way hug. "This means a lot."

* * *

Finn rubs his eyes and tries to pay attention to the Pythagorean Theorem but somewhere between the sum of two sides and hypotenuse he tunes out again.

That's been happening a lot lately.

See, Finn is a man of two hearts…or boy, he should say.

One the one hand, there's Quinn – sweet, beautiful, popular Quinn. The girl who was going to be the mother of his child, the girl he was hoping to one day marry until Puck had come along and messed all of that up.

And sure baby-gate was awful and most times when he thought about it he just wanted to crawl into a corner and cry with his blankie – wait, no blankie. Just cry. And not bawling crying either. Just a manly cry, a few tears whilst sitting rigidly upright.

Yeah, that's it.

And yeah, Quinn was pretty callous (that's the right word, he looked it up) when she kept the true paternity of the baby from him, but he understood that she was scared and she had messed up and didn't know how to tell him about it. Mostly, he blamed Puck but, then again, this kind of thing is nothing out of the ordinary for his ex-best friend.

So, where was he? Oh yes. So while Quinn was kind of a bitch about the whole thing he still thinks, even after all this time, that he kind of loves her.

It's strange but it's something he's learned to deal with. Sam's a good guy and he will never allow himself to become another Puck.

Now, Rachel's on the other hand.

Wait, did he use up his hands? No?

Yeah, no, Quinn's got one and Rachel's got the other. Maybe he should have just used his fingers. This is getting confusing.

Anyway, the point is Rachel is the other girl taking up occupancy in his heart.

Sure she's loud and obnoxious and her personality is about as subtle as Lance Bass' sexuality (sorry, Lance) but she's also loyal and (for the most part) honest and her voice can bowl you over and bring you to tears.

Not that he knows anything about that last part.

But he can't go there with Rachel. At least not yet. His feelings are too raw and while Finn Hudson may be many things, he's not a boy who gets over things very easily.

It usually takes a while.

And a few hundred hours of Halo.

* * *

Artie rolls up behind Brittany as the girl's talking to a few fellow Cheerios and clears his throat, tugging slightly at the bottom of her skirt.

"Guess who?"

Brittany smiles slowly, keeping her back turned. "Um…Benjamin Franklin?"

Artie shakes his head. "No."

"Itzhak Perlman?"

Artie tilts his head to the side. "That's scarily close but guess again."

"Artie Abrams," Brittany finally gives up, turning around to face the boy.

Artie grins up at her. "Right you are Miss. Now…I have something for you."

Brittany's hands shoot out and she squeals excitedly. "Gimme."

Artie shakes his head slightly at her adorableness and reaches into his vest pocket for the tickets. "You're so impatient."

Brittany steps a little closer to him tilting her head in a way that's both completely innocent and disturbingly seductive. "But you like that I'm impatient."

Artie feels his face heating up and he can't speak so he just hands her the passes.

"What are these?"

"They're passes," he stammers, fussing momentarily with his glasses. "For the carnival. I figured you'd probably want to go because you like that kind of thi-"

Brittany cuts the boy's rambling off with a swift kiss. "I love the carnival," she says, pulling away slowly. Her lips twist into a big grin but it falls shortly thereafter.

"What's the matter, Brit?"

"I don't wanna say," she mumbles out, pouting slightly.

"Hey," Artie says softly, tugging on her hand, "It's okay. You can tell me."

"It's just…well…Santana and I always go to the carnival together when it comes to town."

"Oh," Artie says, a bit taken aback by the revelation. Santana doesn't seem like the kind of girl who would enjoy the carnival…or actually, anything fun really. Except maybe sex. Well, no, definitely sex. "Well, she can come with. It's no big deal Brittany. And, hey, with me and my chair we can cut to the front of the lines."

Brittany's grin comes back ten-fold. "Oh Artie, thank you. You really are the best boyfriend ever," she tells him, punctuating the remark with a kiss.

Well, he does try.

* * *

The choir room is eerily quiet.

Like dead quiet.

Even Rachel appears to be stunned into silence.

The reason for this ubiquitous stillness is sitting in a stool in the middle of the room, eyes roaming each and every individual face looking back at her.

The bells rings out loudly and finally Sue Sylvester moves, clasping her hands together once before standing.

"So, how was everyone's summer?"

Nothing.

Crickets.

Then (surprise, surprise) Rachel speaks up.

"Well, I-"

"I don't really care," Sue cuts her off, nodding to Becky Jackson who was sitting off to a corner in the room, notepad in her lap. "Listen up boys and girls, there are going to be some changes around here. Becky, take notes."

"Right Coach."

"First and foremost, all female solos are to be given out to my Cheerios only. Aretha and Barbara, get used to the background baby."

Quinn and Brittany high-five one another as Rachel shoots out of her chair, "That's not fair."

Sue raises a hand to silence her, pursing her lips. "Where's Elton?"

"Kurt transferred Miss Sylvester," Tina informs her.

"That's too bad," Sue laments, thumbing her chin. "I was really looking forward to personally kicking him out of the club. I guess this'll have to do. Asian?"

Tina and Mike point to one another.

"The male one," Sue clarifies, rolling her eyes. "You're out. I know you can boogie-oogie-oogie with the best of 'em but this is a show choir. Emphasis on choir. There will be no stomping the yard on my watch."

Mike looks appalled and Mercedes has apparently had enough. "I'm sorry but can I please ask the obvious now?"

"Yes, you do remind me of Mary from _227_."

"_Where_ is Mr. Schuester?"

"Right here."

Their eyes all dart over to the doorway where a very tan Will Schuester is standing. He looks a little worse for the wear and frankly like he hasn't showered in a few days.

"What are you doing here William?" Sue asks, seemingly innocent.

But Will knows better. He bites back the scathing remark on the tip of his tongue and manages to squeeze out, "I almost didn't make it, Sue. You see, I had a little _technical difficulties_ on my little summer trip to New Mexico."

Sue's jaw drops dramatically. "You don't say."

"Yeah," he says, stepping further into the room to stand in front of her. "Seems like the airport mistakenly gave me the wrong ticket."

Sue smirks. "Well you know how it is with those little cheap airline companies, Will. You get what you pay for."

_-__**Start Flashback**__-_

"_So he's going to ask for a round trip ticket to New Mexico but I want you to sell him a one-way ticket to Mexico, alright? Oh," Sue slips a small package with two pills out of her pocket. "And make sure you slip these in his drink."_

_-__**End Flashback**__-_

"It took quite a bit of explaining and some… regrettable choices made in a Mexican prison but I made it back and I'm here to teach and direct _my_ Glee club."

Sue's smirk falls into a bit of a grimace but she doesn't let the loss sting more than that.

"Come on Becky. These Glee kids are my kryptonite. I feel my superiority weakening by the second. Let's go find some ambiguously-dressed teenagers and make them pick a gender."

Mr. Schuester waits until they're out of the room before he turns back to the kids.

"Sorry about that guys," he says, looking a little sheepish. "Thanks to Sue we don't have much time left to discuss this week's lesson but luckily I came prepared."

Mr. Schue dashes over to the dry-erase board and writes the letters M and E.

"Can anybody tell me what that says?"

"Me!" Brittany shouts out, hand shooting into the air.

"That's right Brittany," he says, pointing the marker in her direction. "This week's assignment is to come up with a song that represents exactly where you see yourself right now."

"Didn't we do this already?" Puck asks, eyebrows knitted.

"Yeah," Finn agrees. "I thought that was what the Hello assignment was all about."

"No guys," Mr. Schue says. "That was us trying to come up with a way to present ourselves to everyone. This is more of a self-reflection," he explains, staring out into the blank faces. "Come on guys. I know that things have happened over the summer that affected the persons you are now. I know that's true for me…"

"Mr. Schue?" Artie asks, noticing the teacher kind of spaced out for a moment there.

Will shakes the cobwebs and gets back into the lesson. "My point is you're sophomores now. It's a new year, a new you, so it's time for new introductions."


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **Don't own. Just borrowing.

* * *

_**I know it's not cool to say but I hate high school.**_

_**Now, I know what you're thinking, 'Finn, what are you talking about man? You're the quarterback of the football team, you're one of the most popular guys in school, plus you get almost every male solo in Glee club. Well, that last part's not all that cool. But, dude, you lost your virginity to Santana Lopez. How could you possibly hate high school?'**_

_**And okay, so football's awesome but our team still only won two games last year. **_

_**And yeah, everybody knows my name but I bet they couldn't tell you anything else about me aside from the fact that I've been cheated on…twice…and both times my girlfriends messed around with my "best friend". **_

_**And glee is…self-explanatory.**_

_**And the Santana thing is…well, yeah, I can't lie that was totally hot but you get my point right?**_

_**High school kinda sucks for me.**_

_**You'd think I'd get sympathy or something but most of the guys just make comments about me not being man enough and glee is **_**not**_** helping.**_

_**Sometimes I wish I could just, I don't know, put on a mask and pretend to be someone else; someone cooler and more confident…**_

_**Like a male version of Coach Sylvester.**_

…

_**Ew, why did Richard Simmons come to mind?**_

"Finn?"

Finn turns around after hearing his name called out, face still screwed up in confusion. "Mike Chang?"

Mike's head tilts slightly. "Why does everyone call me by my full name? As far as I know there are no other Mikes in this school."

"Sorry, dude," Finn smiles, shrugging slightly, "Force of habit. What's up?"

"I need your help and I would normally just go to Tina but she'll probably try to make me sing again."

"Yeah, no. Dude, you don't wanna do that," Finn says, shaking his head.

"I wasn't that bad," Mike bristles, just a little.

"I think my grandma's cat sounded like that once."

Mike actually looks momentarily crushed but he recovers quickly with a wave of his hand. "Okay, anyway, Mr. Schue wants us to sing a song about where we are at this point in our lives, right?"

"Right," Finn nods.

"And I can't sing, so…" Mike trails off gesturing with his hands for Finn to fill in the blank.

Finn looks confused. "You're gonna… mime?"

Mike stares at the boy. "No. I want you to sing for me. It'll be just like that play. You know the one."

Finn nods, smiling slightly.

He doesn't.

Mike rolls his eyes. How did this guy make it to high school? "Cyrano de Bergerac."

Nothing.

"The guy feeds the other guy the lines," Mike continues to prompt to no avail.

Finn just keeps on smiling because when he's at a loss for words he takes Kurt's words to heart.

_Just stand there and try to look pretty._

"It doesn't matter. Can you just meet me at this address after school?" Mike asks, thrusting a piece of paper into Finn's hands.

That, Finn can do.

* * *

"Get off me," Santana says, pushing the boy away.

They're in the prop room in the auditorium and Puck is so very grateful that they'd managed to salvage that one mattress from the commercial shoot.

Puck groans and reaches for her again. "I'm trying to."

She knees him in the sack this time.

Santana sits up on the bed, hands clenching and unclenching repeatedly. "Puck?"

"What?" he squeaks out. He tries to bark it out in annoyance but she got him pretty good.

"Do you love me?"

There's a long silence then, "Babe, you know I love you."

Santana rolls her eyes at the tone of his voice. "Wrong answer Puckerman," she says, pushing herself off of the bed entirely.

Puck rolls over and watches her put her shoes back on, standing up. Okay, so it's nothing to really marvel at but _he _can't do it so whatever.

He regards her silently for a moment, wondering if he should even say what he's thinking. Then he decides what the hell he's Noah Puckerman. He can say whatever he wants. "This never leaves this room, okay? But…you're my best friend, alright? You stood by my side even with all that stuff with Finn and Quinn and the baby. And you're smoking, so win-win, right?" He grins and there's something in it that's almost akin to shyness. "I guess I'm saying that yes, I do love you."

Santana does not look as impressed with this revelation as he'd hoped. "But you're not 'in love' with me?"

Damn. She caught him.

Puck awkwardly ducks his head, his hand rubbing slightly at the base of his mohawk. "It's…I…"

"Save it," Santana tells him, not wanting or even caring to hear his awkward ramblings. She turns to leave.

"Where are you going?" he calls after her, knowing better than to follow. He'd been on the receiving end of her brand of whoop-ass and he is not down for a repeat.

"Why do you care?"

Most times he didn't even know the answer to that question.

* * *

"Warblers practice tonight," Blaine says, coyly sneaking up behind Kurt as the boy is emptying his locker.

"I know," Kurt informs him, adjusting the sleeves of his jacket. "It's only posted on every inch of every wall in every building. Not to mention the half-dozen texts."

"Only a half-dozen," Blaine inquires, tilting his eyebrows. "I got like, fifty."

"Well…" Kurt starts, slowly walking down the hallway, "You are more popular than I."

"That's…true," Blaine laughs at Kurt's shocked expression. "I'm kidding. But, if you're that hard up for more friends you can always, I don't know, open yourself up a little."

"Excuse me," Kurt starts, somewhat affronted. "I am nothing if not an open individual. And, if I must say so myself, I'm quite intriguing."

"Very," Blaine agrees, making Kurt blush. He catches himself though and straightens up (no pun). "I'm not trying to get on you, I'm just saying, you're not that easy to approach sometimes Kurt." The boy puts his hand on Kurt's shoulder and squeezes momentarily, offering a wan smile.

"Okay," Kurt sighs, conceding the point. He places his own hand over Blaine's and squeezes it. "You're right. I do tend to be a bit…guarded when it comes to meeting new people but that's because at McKinley most of the people wanted to hit me or slushy me…or both."

"The guys here aren't like that. I promise," Blaine assures him. "Just come out with me and the guys one night and you'll see."

* * *

"So what're you guys going to do tonight?" Mercedes asks Tina, popping the tab on her can of soda.

"Mike's got rehearsal so I was thinking of just hitting up the mall. Maybe get something for this week's group number."

"Oh girl, count me in. You know I'm always down for a shopping spree."

"Can I come?"

"Maybe Kurt'll want to come," Tina suggests and Mercedes' eyes light up.

"Maybe? Girl please, he cut his teeth at Macy's. Let me just text him real quick."

"Excuse me? Ladies?"

"Maybe we can swing by FYE too. Get some inspiration for my 'me' song," Mercedes adds, still tapping at her phone.

"Tina? Mercedes?"

Finally, they turn to look at her.

"Oh, you were talking to us?" Tina asks innocently.

Rachel stands there awkwardly, lunch tray still in her hands. "Look, I know we've had our differences in the past."

Mercedes crosses her arms. "If by differences you mean you being annoying and me wanting to punch you, then yes, you are correct."

Rachel blanches noticeably. "Like I was saying, I know we haven't always gotten along but I was hoping that you'd be willing to look past all of that…ugliness of years' past. I'm proposing we start anew."

"I don't like where this is going," Tina starts, cutting her eyes to Mercedes.

Rachel finally sets her tray down and takes a seat. "Ladies, you're obviously talented and while, Mercedes you may lack the structure and command that years of training provides and Tina you clearly have a very limited range, there are still things we can afford one another. So, there's my proposal. I help you two polish up your vocal abilities and you help me to become a less abrasive and, hopefully, more likeable person."

"Yeah," Tina starts slowly, sliding her tray along the table before standing up, "I think I'll pass."

Mercedes stands too. "Sorry Rachel but there aren't enough vocal lessons in the world," she adds, stepping away with Tina.

It isn't said with malice or anything but it doesn't make it sting any less. Rachel stares into her tray of meatless lasagna. "What did I do?"

"Perhaps you should try not insulting people as you're asking them for personal favors."

The brunette looks up to find Quinn standing there, both of her hands folded neatly over one cocked hip.

"I wasn't aware that I was insulting anyone, Quinn."

Quinn shakes her head slightly and can't hold back the eye roll. "That's your problem right there," she sneers, in full snark mode. "You're never _aware_, Rachel. It's always about you and what you want and life does not work that way."

"Excuse me, but I did not ask for you to come over here and tear me down. And, frankly," the girl says, pushing her chair away and grabbing her tray before standing, "I don't have to stand here and listen to it."

She doesn't get two steps before getting slushied.

Green this time.

"Lime for the Lima loser!" Azimio barks, high-fiving Karofsky as they continue on their way.

Quinn just stands there – shock and a little amusement playing across her features.

Rachel slowly turns back around. "Could you please point me in the direction of the nearest girl's facilities?"

* * *

Brittany spies Santana at her locker some time after fifth period and she sneaks up to her, tip-toeing quietly.

Santana almost swallows her tongue when she feels two hands slip over her eyes but then she feels the softness and the warmth and now she's almost swallowing her tongue for an entirely different reason.

"Guess who?" Brittany whispers, a small grin playing on her lips.

"I know it's you Brittany," the other girl says, pulling the girl's hands down.

"You always know it's me," Brittany pouts, folding her arms across her chest petulantly and Santana can't hold back the chuckle.

"Well, you do have super soft hands," Santana reasons, grabbing the last book from her locker. "So what's up?"

Brittany's smile makes a reappearance. "Guess what we're doing Saturday?"

Santana groans. "Britt, I am not going to another petting zoo. I swear the last time I was pulling straw out of my hair for a week."

"It's not the petting zoo," Brittany says, somewhat somberly. "Actually, I wouldn't mind seeing the baby ducks again. But, no, it's the carnival."

Santana eyes the girl warily. "Aren't you going with Wheels?"

"Don't call him Wheels, San. That's not nice. And yes, Artie and I are going together. But," the blonde reaches for Santana's hand, linking their pinkies, "I want you to come too. It's our tradition."

"I don't know, Britt," Santana states slowly and thinking of the hundreds of thousands of things she'd rather do than watch Artie fawn all over Brittany or vice versa; like, light the school on fire, light her house on fire, light her…self on fire.

Wow, so she's a pyromaniac apparently.

"Please San?" Brittany says, squeezing her pinky tighter. "I miss hanging out with you. We never do anymore."

Santana's fairly certain that, in spite of all of her friend's – shall we call them – deficiencies, Brittany knows exactly why their one-on-one time has been curtailed of lately, but Brittany's not the only one who can act so she plays her part as well.

"You're right Brit," she smirks, swinging their pinkies. "We don't. And it'd be a shame to break the tradition."

"_Our _tradition," Brittany sweetly corrects, pleased to have gotten her way.

Santana's smirk softens into a genuine smile. "Our tradition," she agrees.

* * *

"Hey Rachel, wanna go half on a Jew baby?" Puck asks, accidentally on purpose sitting on her lap in chemistry.

Rachel pushes him away forcibly. "Get off of me Noah."

"Excuse me class," Mr. Frederickson drily intervenes. "If you would please refrain from talking during lecture…"

Puck reluctantly scrambles to his own seat, right behind hers.

Minutes later Rachel feels a poke to her shoulder.

"What?" she hisses, not turning around.

"I'm serious," Puck whispers, leaning up in his seat. "I'm single. You're single. We still are some fine looking Jews."

"First of all, you're not single. You're dating Santana," she tosses over her shoulder.

Puck groans audibly. "Sex is not dating," he says, along with about four other students seated nearby.

"Well, that may be true for…some of you, but I most certainly do not sleep with someone unless I'm romantically involved with them," Rachel sniffs before turning back to her note taking.

Puck pokes her again.

"Poke me one more time and-"

Puck, the little hellion, of course does it again and she tries preempting him but as she turns he misses his mark and pokes her right in the boob. "Second base," he guffaws and she rolls her eyes before turning back around, cheeks hot.

"C'mon babe. Don't be mad," Puck whispers, chuckling a little when she scoots her desk forward. "Okay, well, to clarify, Santana and I are _not_ dating. She's got her own issues to work out. So there."

Rachel doesn't exactly know what to do with that information but before she can respond the teacher is calling Puck's name.

"Are you paying attention Mr. Puckerman?"

"Why yes, sir. Yes I am."

"Name one of the gasses we've been discussing today."

Puck's eyes light up and he pretends to be deep in thought before letting loose a monstrous sounding fart. He smiles as the class howls with laughter.

"Methane?"

"Please go to see Principal Figgins Mr. Puckerman."

* * *

"I think I might get these for Mike," Tina says, pulling on an oversized pair of yellow-framed sunglasses. "What do you think?"

Mercedes gives her the thumbs up before focusing back in on Kurt. "Now, what are you saying?"

"He's taking me out with his friends," Kurt hisses into his phone. He's barricaded himself into one of the bathrooms.

"Okay, so go out with him then, Kurt. You do like him don't you?"

Kurt sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "That's not the point Mercedes. These are his friends. _Friends_."

"I don't follow."

Kurt sucks his teeth in frustration. "They are boys, like boy boys. Imagine eight rather impeccably-dressed Pucks."

Mercedes' face twists up in disgust. "Oh, sweetie. I'm so sorry."

"Yes, so now do you see my dilemma? I'm going to stick out more than someone wearing McQueen at a Galliano show."

"Is Kurt still freaking out?" Tina asks her, draping a scarf around the other girl's shoulders.

"Yes girl," Mercedes says, handing Tina the phone.

"Kurt, just be yourself. He'll love you. Who wouldn't? Who else do you know can belt Celine Dion in the middle of a full cardiac workout?"

Kurt smiles slowly. "Thanks Tina."

Mercedes takes her phone back. "So get out of the bathroom and go have fun," she practically yells, snapping her phone shut and grabbing Tina's arm quickly. "What. The hell. Is that?"

Tina peers across the store to where Mercedes is pointing and well, it looks like Puck's pushing a stroller.

"Come on," Mercedes hisses, dragging the girl with her across the store, hiding behind the racks of clothing.

There's a girl with Puck that they don't recognize and the sale's lady is speaking very animatedly with them. They both have their backs to Mercedes and Tina and there's too much distance between them to know what it is they're saying but Puck does seem to be very interested in what the sales lady has to say.

But the girl turns suddenly and Mercedes gasps loudly.

"Oh my God," she says, loudly, forcing Tina to clap a hand over her mouth.

The pregnant girl and Puck look in their direction momentarily before turning their attention back to the saleswoman.

Tina shares a knowing look with Mercedes. "This fool done done it again."

* * *

Finn walks past the building a grand total of three times before finally going in.

It's not that he's bad with directions – okay, well that is part of it, because sometimes he forgets how to get to his own house – it's just that he kind of figures he's in the wrong place when he passes by the big front window and sees a bunch of girls dressed in tutus.

On the second casual pass he verifies the address.

On the third he thinks maybe he's being a little creepy and decides to go in.

The bell above the door chimes and he sort of wishes he'd noticed that before he'd walked in because now all the tutued girls are staring at him and most of them looked all of twelve-years old.

The lone woman in the room approaches him cautiously. "Can I help you?"

Finn awkwardly shoves his hands in his pockets then thinks better of it and pulls them out. "Um, yeah, my friend from school gave me directions to this place."

The little girls giggle then and Finn is just beginning to think this is a set-up when Mike's voice calls out from the back of the building. "It's okay Aunt Sheila. Send him on back."

Finn's shoulders sag in relief and he tiptoes around all the children, wary because he is a giant and might crush them, and darts to the back where he's surprised to find Mike…and Brittany.

"Uh, hey guys."

"Hi," Brittany says brightly, continuing her stretches without a second thought.

Finn stares for a long while because who the heck knew Brittany was so flexible.

"Finn."

"Wha-what?" he says, breaking out of his trance.

"So, I think I know what song I want to sing."

"Dude, you dance?" Finn asks and then rolls his eyes at himself. "I mean, I know you dance, but like you really dance? Practice it and stuff?"

"Practice makes perfect, right?" Mike jokes, trying to shrug it off. "Look, school's really stressful and dancing's relaxing for me. Plus, it's a really great way to stay in shape."

"I see," Finn says, getting an eyeful of Brittany again.

Mike follows his line of sight and laughs. "And yeah, there's that," he says, strutting over to Brittany. He grabs her by the hand and twirls her once; affecting some intricate spin moves that Finn couldn't imagine himself doing in a million years. "But mostly, Britt and I just come here to have fun."

Mike dips Brittany low. "Dancing's fun, Finn," the blonde says.

"I bet," Finn nods, barely looking away. "So…what song did you have in mind?"


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Feel free to drop me a line and let me know how much you hate this. I can take it. Disclaimer: Again, don't own, just borrowing.

***O*O***

_He loves me._

_He loves me not._

_Wait, what am I saying?_

_Love…I'm hoping for a like here._

_Still, the way he looks at me sometimes._

_Okay, this is getting ridiculous._

_Pull yourself together Kurt._

_Just because a boy is nice to you and smiles at you and holds open doors for you and holds your hand and…_

_I…lost my train of thought._

_Oh yes, that's right, just because he does all of those things and he's gay and you're gay doesn't mean that he's interested in you._

_Or that he likes you._

_Or that he loves you._

_Although, you have to admit, it's nothing short of confusing._

"Do you need help?"

Kurt's elbow jerks and he almost gets a full face of desk but he catches himself.

"Help?"

Blaine smiles at him, catching the pen that was about to roll off of Kurt's desk. "Your face. You look confused."

Kurt feels his face warm up. "Um, no. I'm…not. I just spaced out for a minute."

"I could tell," Blaine whispers, cutting his eyes toward the front of the classroom before lowering his voice even more. "Did you have fun last night?"

* * *

"_I think the Buckeyes have an excellent chance to make it to a bowl game this year."_

"_Psh. Yeah. The toilet bowl."_

"_Yeah, they've sucked ever since they lost Beanie Wells."_

"_What do you think Kurt?" one of the guys asks, turning to the boy._

_Kurt blanches. "Is that a new LeBron James nickname?"  
_

* * *

"It was…interesting," Kurt nods with a tight smile.

"Well, the guys loved you. Actually, I think they just liked your Carson Kressley impression."

"But I didn't do a Carson Kressley impression."

"I know that but…you know, they don't," Blaine says, grinning a little impishly.

Kurt shakes his head, rolling his eyes a little even though he smiles. "So…what're you doing tonight?"

Blaine's easy smile stiffens a little and he glances down at his notebook. "I…have a ton of homework, actually. Why?"

Kurt's stomach quivers but he fights through it. "I was thinking maybe we could hang out. You know? One on one this time."

Blaine smiles. "You just made a basketball reference."

Kurt flushes considerably but turns his attention back to his own notes. "Guilty as charged."

"Can I take a rain check?" Blaine says suddenly, his voice a little tight.

Kurt's brows knit together but he can't do anything but nod swiftly, swallowing hard. "Sure."

"Okay," Blaine says, turning back to the front of the classroom.

They don't speak again for the rest of the lesson.

***O*O***

"This is starting to irk me Mr. Hummel."

"_I know Mama Cedes but soon, me and you? We'll definitely hang."_

Mercedes dodges the traffic in the hallway and lets a slow grin work its way across her face. "Okay, I'm appeased. For now."

"_Good. Now, as I've told you, the night went better than expected even though I stuck out like a sore thumb."_

"You may have mentioned this yes."

"_Well, he is sending me more mixed signals than the Secretary of Defense. I mean, first we went to Pakistan to get Osama Bin Laden for 9/11. But then he moved to Afghanistan so we went there. And now he's moved somewhere else and we're… still in Afghanistan. You know, I don't get this war."_

"You've got five minutes Kurt," Mercedes lightly warns.

"_Okay, okay. Well, he enjoyed our time. His friends enjoyed me. But then when I asked him out-"_

Mercedes quick intake of air got the attention of more than a few passersby. "You asked him out?"

"_I know, right,"_ Kurt practically squeals, elated at his own bravado.

"My Kurtie's growing up," Mercedes sniffs.

"_Oh, you're_ so_ getting it when I see you again."_

"So, what'd he say?"

"_That he was busy."_

"Oh." A beat. "Well, maybe he is busy."

She can hear Kurt's pout. _"Busy avoiding _me_. You didn't see him Mercedes. He's, like, holding back or something. I don't really get it."_

"Maybe he just doesn't want to rush you. He would be your first boyfriend, you know?"

"_True,"_ Kurt admits. _"He could just be being very gentlemanly. I swear Mercedes, you could write a guide book on_ _boys."_

Mercedes snorts. "Yeah, then maybe I'll be able to guide one of those boys in my direction."

"I wouldn't count on it Madea," Karofsky sneers, suddenly standing in front of her.

Azimio laughs and then straightens up. "Hey, that was too racial."

"Cecily Tyson?"Karofsky offers an alternative.

The other boy shakes his head. Not amused.

Dave really cinches up and hunkers down then, using all…two of his brain cells for this one. "Oprah?"

"That'll do," Azimio shrugs, then grins maliciously at Mercedes. "Oprah."

"Yes, insulting me by calling me one of the most influential and fiscally endowed women on the planet is definitely ingenious. What do you clowns want?" she asks, putting he hands on her hips.

"I don't know what fizz-cully means but if I look it up and it's bad, expect an ice bath later," Azimio barks.

"Talking to Homo-Hummel?" Karofsky asks, gesturing to her phone.

She'd forgotten all about Kurt. "I might be. Why? You miss him?"

Karofsky's entire face goes red and he slams his meaty fist into a locker, right beside her head. "I do miss him," he whispers and she's sure it's only she who hears him. His face has changed too and he doesn't look angry as much as he looks hurt, tormented. But then he's right back to angry again because he smacks the crap out of another locker. "I miss kicking his ass."

Azimio laughs and slaps his hand against Karofsky's and the two oafs loaf down the hall again, leaving Mercedes with a lot of unanswered questions.

***O*O***

_Are you thinking about me?_

Quinn smiles bashfully and replies to the text, trying to suppress again lest anyone is looking at her.

_I knew you were, lol_

"You should ask if he was thinking about you," Mr. Schuester says, suddenly standing over her.

"Oh," Quinn says, startled and feeling her cheeks burn. "I…was…I was, um…"

"Texting in my class," Mr. Schuester finishes for her, smiling amusedly. "It's okay. But, just so you know, while you were distracted everyone paired up for the Spanish project. Well everyone except you and…" Will gestures behind her and Quinn turns around in that horror movie slow-motion fashion to find Jacob Ben Israel looking back at her, a smirk on his face.

Well, it was Jacob so it wasn't so much of a smirk as it was gas-related grimace, but she knew what he meant.

"Oh, God, no. Mr. Schue," Quinn says, pleading over the class' laughter. "Isn't there anyone else I can pair with? I'd take anyone. Even that quiet kid with the psoriasis."

"Sorry Q," Mr. Schuester says, tilting his head with a shrug of his shoulders. "You snooze, you lose. Besides, I think Evan's been forbidden from too much physical contact with other students ever since Sue won that ridiculous lawsuit."

* * *

"_I'm only saying, Your Honor, that how can I possibly be expected to teach in a safe and conducive learning environment when I'm worrying about developing some sort of respiratory infection from the exorbitant amount of dead skin cells I'm inhaling?"_

* * *

Quinn drops her head into her palm before turning to the class.

"Is there anyone? Anyone who'd switch partners with me?"

"I'll be your partner, Quinn."

Quinn's eyes widen. "I change my mind. I'm okay with Jacob."

"Now _that_ is an excellent idea. You two work so well in Glee club I'm sure you'll be able to replicate success in your academics. It's settled then, Lauren, you'll pair with Jacob. And Quinn…"

Quinn groans, face-planting into her desk.

"…you're paired with Rachel."

***O*O***

Santana's been quiet all afternoon, but it's not like Brittany would notice.

It's not like Brittany was ever the most observant of individuals anyway – for reference look up _Lima Girl Falls Into Man Hole (with about eight orange cones and barricades around it)_ – but now that she's dating Artie, any and all of her extra brainpower was focused on the wheel-bound wonder kid.

"And he got me this stuffed marshmallow."

Santana swats the thing out of her face with a grimace. "Why would anyone want a stuffed marshmallow?"

"I asked Artie that too but then he told me that it wasn't to eat and I understood. Where's Puck?"

It's an unprecedented question on Brittany's part because usually when Santana's around, Brittany's not concerned about _other_ people's whereabouts.

Santana shrugs aloofly. "I dunno."

Brittany's eyes look down a little. "I was only asking because I don't like it when you're alone."

Santana smiles a little bit. "I'm not alone, Brit. You're here."

That gets Brittany to brighten. "Good because I've been meaning to tell you that I think maybe my cat should try out for the Olympics. I slammed the door too hard yesterday and he jumped _so_ high in the air. I was thinking he could compete in tall jumps."

"It's high-jumps, Brittany. And I don't think they allow animals into the Olympics."

"Well, that's not fair," Brittany pouts, eliciting yet another smile from Santana.

"Miss Lopez?"

Santana rolls her eyes and looks to the front of the class.

"Mrs. Mitchell."

"Is there a reason why you're talking while I'm instructing?"

"Instructing?" Santana repeats sardonically, narrowing her eyes and crossing her arms. "Puh-lease. This is health class lady, aka Sex Ed. And newsflash, most of all already knows what goes where and those of us that don't," she cuts her eyes over to a few of the nerds, "are busy perving out to the pictures. In other words, we don't need your _instruction_," she finishes, making sure to air-quote the last word.

Mrs. Mitchell looks like she wants to say more but the class has already fell back into a heavy disinterest and who is she to rock the boat?

"You shouldn't have said that," Brittany murmurs, reaching across to Santana's desk.

"She was pissing me off."

"Everyone pisses you off," Brittany says with a laugh, fingers tracing a line on the back of Santana's hand.

"That's…" Santana starts to say and trails off when Brittany's eyes find hers. The silence stretches on for a long while but a snicker somewhere behind them breaks Santana out of her stupor. "That's not true," she finally says, pulling her hand away. "Not everyone."

***O*O***

Sam gives her his best sympathetic look, running his fingers down her arm before grasping her hand. "I'm sorry, babe."

"It's not your fault," Quinn says, still pouting though. She couldn't believe that for the next - God what was it? – month or so she'd be spending a fair amount of her free time with Rachel Berry.

She would probably end up killing the girl.

"It kind of is," Sam grins, still watching her sad face. "But you can't really blame me. I just couldn't go another minute without talking to you."

Quinn bites the inside of her cheek.

Sam smiles wider. "Is that a smile I see? A Quinn Fabray smile?"

Quinn shakes her head and ducks her chin a little, lips twisting in an almost futile attempt to hold back.

"I think it is. C'mon Q, smile. Don't make me break out the McConaughey."

"Oh please don't. No," Quinn finally says, grinning from ear to ear.

"There it is," Sam says, enveloping her in a hug.

Across the hall, Finn is all but gagging.

"Are you okay?" Mike asks him, having just walked up.

"New love makes me sick," Finn mutters, somberly turning the combination to his locker.

Mike smiles ruefully, shaking his head. "You just got burned, man. It sucks but that's all it is. You get over it."

"How do you know?"

"Remember Angelina?" Mike prompts, looking uncomfortable.

And boy did Finn ever.

* * *

"_Hello boys."_

_Finn, Puck, Mike, and Matt all turn around…and promptly place their notebooks over the front of their jeans._

_Angelina was the kind of girl that probably shouldn't have been in high school; at least not public high school where boys were around because she could be very counter-productive to the learning process. Unless the learning process was how to look hot, and be hot, and get people hot because if that was the case she might as well be the freaking valedictorian._

_Puck was the only one to find his voice but he only managed to squeak._

"_My name is Angelina María Isabela de la Cruz Martínez and I was wondering if any of you knew where the assembly room was."_

_They basically ran over each other to escort her and Mike, being the tallest at the time, ended up getting the first trial run with Angelina._

_A week later she'd moved on to bigger and better, or at least older._

_On the plus side, Mr. Myers did get fired._

* * *

"That girl broke my heart," Mike states quietly, still reminiscent. "But I got over it."

"How?"

"I danced," Mike shrugs, not knowing how else to say it. "I just let my body get all of that frustration out for me."

"But, dude, I don't dance."

"But you sing, man," Mike tells him matter-of-factly, smacking his arm, before taking off down the hall as the bell rings. "Sing about it. Get it off of your chest."

Finn turns back to Quinn and Sam, a small smile on his face. "Okay," he says, closing his locker. "I'll sing about it."

***O*O***

"Puck," she says, slamming closed his locker. "Dinner. Breadsticks. Tonight. You pay."

Puck smirks, opening his locker door once again. "Sorry babe. No can do. I'm busy tonight."

His locker slams closed again and he just barely manages to get his face out of the way. "Crap, Lopez. Watch it."

"Did you just say 'no' to me?" she asks, voice eerily calm and Puck has the good sense to back up a step.

"There's this thing I have to do…later and-"

"Hang on," Santana interrupts and now she truly does look pissed. "Are you saying 'no' to me and also lying about why?"

"_No_," Puck says, dropping his hands to cover up his crotch. The girl had killer – in the bad way this time – knees. "I'll take you out tomorrow," he compromises quickly. "Buy you anything you want."

Santana eases back a little, the thunder face tapering off into her standby mode. You know, HBIC mode. "That's more like it. So, now that we've got that settled, can you tell me why _Rush Hour 3_ has been standing behind you staring for the last five minutes or so?"

Puck looks over his shoulder and sure enough Tina and Mercedes – _Rush Hour 3_, tee hee – are standing right behind him, arms crossed and pulling off pretty decent Santana impersonations.

"You know what? I don't even care. Pick me up at five tomorrow, Puckerman," the Latina says, walking off and leaving him standing uncomfortably in front of the other two girls.

"What do you want?" he asks, a little defensive.

Mercedes looks over to Tina who gives her a quick nod before they both take a step forward, faces still stone.

Puck takes an involuntary step back. "Hey man, I thought we were cool now. What is this? The revenge of the Gleeks?"

"I'm only going to ask you this once, Noah. Are you expecting another baby?"

Puck was seriously not expecting that and he can't help but laugh, almost doubling over with the force of it all. "_What? _Are you kidding me? Who told you that?"

Tina shrugs, still stonewalled. "Don't worry about it. Is it true?"

"You two…man. Okay, not that it's any of your business but the only girl I've been making it with is Santana…well, and Lauren. But that was only once and…" Puck gasps. "Crap, Lauren isn't pregnant is she?"

"No," Mercedes answers, not really needing to know that Lauren and Puck actually hooked up. She knew they'd fooled around but she didn't think it'd actually gone _that _far.

"Besides, everyone knows that I got the 'snip-snip' last year. Hence, no mo' little Puckerones. Well, I mean not unless Mr. Schuester has another hallucination."

"So, you're on the record as not having knocked up any girls recently?" Tina asks, just to make absolute sure.

"Any chick claiming Puck's their baby daddy has been smoking the wacky-tobaccy. The bad kind. You know, the Bobby Brown and Whitney kind."

***O*O***

"Hudson!"

Finn finds whatever strength he has left and pushes himself up off of the field again.

Coach is mad and she's headed straight for him.

He could…run?

"Do you understand the sport of football?" Coach Bieste asks him face in his face mask.

No, seriously, she's in his facemask. If he speaks he may kiss her.

So instead, he nods.

"Well then you might want to explain to me why you keep standing there instead of throwing the freaking football. You've got three options and a check down. Throw the ball to somebody! Somebody's open! Gah!"

The rest of the football team just kind of stares there while Coach Bieste has an epileptic seizure it looks like before she finally tells them to hit the showers.

"Way to suck, Hudson," Puck tells him and even though he keeps his tone light, Finn glares barbs back at him.

They file into the locker room and Puck scoots away from him as fast as he can, a fact that Finn takes some satisfaction in. "I'm telling you. The guy's got homoitis from all that dancing and queereobics he's doing in Glee. He probably doesn't even know _how_ to throw a football," Azimio jabs and Finn just bushes past him hard, finding an empty corner in the locker room to sit in, wallow in his self-pity.

He's lifting off his jersey when he barely makes out the sound of a very muffled voice coming from somewhere behind him.

Finn leans closer and he can hear it now, clearly.

"I'm sorry but I can't…I know what I said but I can't do it tonight…My girl had a bad day and I'm taking her out for ice cream."

***O*O***

"Okay, so as we all know, I'm not the best singer in Glee club," Mike starts.

"Stop the presses," Santana quips and Puck snickers, sneakily reaching a hand over to her knee.

"But…I didn't want to disappoint or – God forbid – rap so I enlisted the help of a couple of my fellow Glee clubbers to accompany me and help me express myself so, Finn? Brittany?"

Finn takes his place, immobile, at the front of the class and he has to admit he's a little excited. He's not really and R&B dude but, when the first strains of "DJ Got Us Falling In Love" come on and Brittany and Mike transform into _Brittany and Mike,_ he loses himself for the first time in a long time and just sings.

The rest of Glee club is enjoying it too, especially Tina when Mike goes over and gives her what must be the male equivalent of a lap dance aka face full of abs.

_So dance dance  
Like it's the last last night  
Of your life life  
Im'ma get you right_

'Cause baby tonight  
The DJ got us falling in love again

The song ends and they get a standing ovation, Mr. Schuester gushing about the collaboration but maybe it's only Finn who notices the quiet look in Tina's eyes. The one that he used to see in Quinn's.

It's just a tad unnerving.

Quinn and Sam perform – shocker of the century – a duet. A love song to be even more specific and while Rachel looks on longingly and Finn looks like he wants to puke, everyone else either looks bored or…nope, just bored. There's no other emotion on display.

Mr. Schuester actually seems to have fallen asleep and is only awakened by the guitar guy's light riff. "Okay, that…that was great, guys," he says, wiping the corner of his mouth. "Who wants to go next?"

"I will, Mr. Schue," Mercedes says, and everyone sits up a little straighter in their chairs because while Mercedes may not be everyone's favorite diva (i.e. Rachel), no one can ever say the girl can't blow.

Don't think any of them expected this though.

_The radiator says 95  
But I ain't felt a drop of heat all night  
here in this motel, there's no telling me nothing_

To be fair, it actually sounds extremely good. And she's taken most of the honky-tonk out of it, but is Mercedes Jones really singing a country song?

The answer: yes, yes she is.

_If you want it  
Come and get it  
If you want it, come and get it but understand  
You take me as I am_

Stunned probably is an understatement, but impressively stunned is too. Still, Mr. Schuester leads the class in the applause, jaw seemingly stuck to his chest.

"Wow, Mercedes. That was…wow. Who knew, right guys?" he enthuses, looking at the rest of the kids.

"You did really well, Mercedes," Rachel offers once the girl sits back down, touching her on the shoulder.

"Thanks Rachel," Mercedes says, smiling a little.

"We're almost out of time for the day so-"

"Hang on. I wanna go," Santana speaks up, surprising quite a few people. She shrugs. "I just want to get it out of the way."

"Very well, Santana," Mr. Schuester says, sitting back down. "You have the floor."

"I'm going to sing now and I don't want to hear anything about the stupid song after I'm done, okay?"

"Alright," Will agrees, holding up his hands.

Santana feels like she's out of her skin, but she really got into this assignment. And it was pretty cool to get everything out there in song so that people wouldn't dwell on it as long. In the end, you could mean everything you sang about or not.

_My daddy told me, "You'll be a pop star,  
All you have to change is everything you are."  
Tired of being compared to little Miss Quinn here  
She's so pretty, that just ain't me_

Doctor, doctor won't you please prescribe me something  
A day in the life of someone else? 'cause I'm a hazard to myself

Don't let me get me  
I'm my own worst enemy  
It's bad when you annoy yourself  
So irritating  
Don't wanna be my friend no more  
I wanna be somebody else

Well it was an awesome performance, that much is absolutely obvious but what kind of Pandora's Box had Mr. Schuester just opened.

His kids had some issues and now, well he had to actually be a teacher and deal with them.

Talk about biting off more than you can chew.

***O*o*O***

_**Also…**_

**Songs mentioned in this one are: **

"**DJ Got Us Falling in Love" by Usher**

"**Take Me As I Am" by Sugarland**

"**Don't Let Me Get Me" by P!nk**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **Thanks for the reviews and reading, even you silent readers out there.

**Disclaimer: **Don't own. Just borrowing.

***o*O*o***

_This has got to be some kind of a record._

_Berry hasn't stopped going on about The Mayflower Compact for about an hour and I'm forced to sit here and _listen_ like I actually give a crap about the stuff that's coming out of her face._

_Which I don't._

_In fact, I dare you to find someone who's more uninterested in what Rachel Berry has to say._

_You will not be successful._

_Besides, the only reason I'm even aware that she's speaking is because Brittany's way on the other side of the room…with her boyfriend._

_Yeah, I know. It pisses me off too._

_Usually, during history class, Brit and I would write each other little notes and she'd try to make a sketch of my profile for the billionth time but it always comes out as a stick figure with really big knockers._

_She's kind of a boobs girl._

_I have like a ton of those little drawings tucked into this folder of mine and when I'm particularly bored I'll pull one out and look at it. She's actually gotten a little better since she'd first started. I'm even wearing a triangle skirt._

_But now she's staring at Artie like he's Brad Pitt or something, which, ew, who even _likes_ Brad Pitt these days. He has his good days but lately he's been resembling a hobo._

_And then there's Quinn. Ever since I sang that song in Glee she's been all up on me, trying to get in my head._

_I would be touched if I didn't know it's all an effort to assuage some guilt that Catholics must be born with because I don't have it._

_The best thing about singing the song that I did in Glee is that inevitably I can brush it off as just being bored and wanting to mess with everyone's head._

_That'll get everybody off of my back fast. The only problem is Brittany._

_Because even though she's naive enough to believe that global warming is caused by God using the hair dryer too much she can see right through me most of the time._

"Psst!"

Santana almost jumps when the folded up triangle of paper lands on her desk.

She glances back over her shoulder and sees Puck grinning like the Hamburgler. She rolls her eyes and opens the note anyway, not surprised to see the crude drawing and Puck's familiar scrawled "Wanna hang out later?"

She actually really wants to say yes. They were supposed to go to dinner anyway, plus if she's hanging out with Puck she won't have to lie to Brittany when the girl inescapably asks her to be the third wheel again, and she's not a big fan of lying to Brittany.

It's not that she doesn't _do _it occasionally; she's just not a big fan.

But hanging out with Puck means sleeping with Puck and lately Puckzilla hasn't been tearing down the buildings like he used to. He's not into it and she's not into it and what that really translates into is really crappy sex.

She scribbles down a hurried, "Can't. That time, you know?" and tosses the note back over her head.

She waits a few seconds and then feels a kick to her chair.

"What?" she whispers, not really wanting to get caught by the teacher again. She's not feeling up to her A-bitch game today.

Puck doesn't seem to mind though, sitting way up in his chair. "Come over anyway. We can just…talk," he whispers loudly and the whole class, Rachel included as she goes momentarily silent, turns to look at them.

Puck just shrugs. "If you want."

***O*O***

"Will?"

"Yes, Emma?" he asks, sitting up eagerly in his chair.

"Is there something you wanted to talk about?" she asks him, eyes big.

"Is there something _you_ want to talk about?"

Emma just looks around her office, a little unnerved. "I'm asking because we've been sitting in here for five minutes and you've just been staring at me. You're not even breathing."

"I'm sorry. It's just…you look, nice."

Mrs. Pillsbury-Howell has had a bit of a makeover since the wedding. She's grown her hair longer and the cuts of her tops have gotten lower and while she still very much looks like one of those characters from a cartoon movie, she's turned into a DCILF: Disney character I'd like to…fill in the expletive of your choice.

"Well, thank you Will but I thought you had something you wanted to actually talk about," Emma says, bristling just a tad.

"I do," Will rushes to say, gathering his thoughts only to have them crash again. "Or I did. Before I walked in here I was all upset about…something."

"Coach Sue wants to see you Schue," Santana says, rapping her knuckles against the door frame. "Nice rack, Mrs. P," she adds, cackling evilly when both of the teachers redden.

"Now, I remember," Will starts once the girl had turned and left. "I wanted to talk about my kids. Emma, I knew that they were having their issues. But I never thought it was that bad. I mean, as far as I can gather Santana doesn't want to be herself and Mercedes is completely lost without her gay shadow. Finn has become Johnny Cash reincarnated because he only ever wears black these days and, well actually, as far as I know that's kind of it."

"Will," Emma smiles, never immune to that confused distraught look he so often sports. "They're in high school. Every week it's a new dilemma, a new tragedy, a new end of the world catastrophe that makes them feel like giving up. But then they hook up with someone over the weekend and things go back to normal."

Unbeknownst to Will or Emma, Coach Sylvester was right outside of the door, taking notes.

"Excellent," she grinned, scribbling down the last bit. "Becky Jackson!"

"Yes Coach," the girl reports, miraculously showing up within seconds.

"Bring me Quinn Fabray and her back-up singers. It's time to once and for all rid the world of the atrocity that is Will Schuester and that immovable object perched on the top of his head. Seriously, it doesn't move an inch when he does anything. Is it even hair?"

***O*O***

"Okay guys. Given that we have so many performances we still have to get to, how about we just skip my lecture and get right into them. Who wants to go first?"

"I will, Mr. Schue," Puck says, raising his hand.

He walks to the front of the room and surprisingly calls out Lauren to accompany him.

"Move it," she barks at the piano man, who scrambles out of her way while Puck moves a stool to the center of the choir room.

What people don't know is that the "seven minutes in Heaven" Puck and Lauren experienced is what most people would refer to as a jam session.

* * *

"_You're really good," Puck drawls out, still plucking away at his guitar strings._

_Lauren just tapped away at her keyboard, fingers moving across the keys nimbly. "I know."_

"_How come I never knew this, man? I'm good at assessing people. I always thought you were a crazy vampire chick with an affinity for playing men's' sports."_

"_Watch it, Puckerman. I'm still the heavyweight state champion," Lauren warned, suddenly ceasing play. "And to notice things about other people you'd actually have to look at them, butt head."_

"_I'm sensitive okay? I _see_ people," Puck bristles, not liking being pegged so easily._

"_No, you don't," Lauren refutes, getting back to music. "Not really."_

* * *

So that's why Puck's sitting in front of all of them, singing a song he knows they'll all think means something that it really doesn't. And the one person he really wants to get it probably never will.

_When you're dreaming with a broken heart  
Then waking up is the hardest part  
You roll outta bed and down on your knees  
And for a moment you can hardly breathe  
Wondering was she really here?  
Is she standing in my room?  
No she's not, 'cause she's gone, gone, gone, gone, gone..._

***O*O***

Sam looks pissed.

In fact his usually already rosy red cheeks are fire red and he's breathing out of his nostrils so hard that it's a wonder he hasn't busted a lung or something.

It doesn't really matter that Quinn's holding _his _hand or leaning on _his_ shoulder because all he can see is that skunk head Puck and all the many different scenarios in which he can inflict physical harm upon him.

Santana thinks it's hilarious like only she would because only Puck would have the 'nads to do something like this without caring about the repercussions (or probably ever really thinking about them).

Rachel can't believe that Puck would ever be so open about something like this. I mean, sure they had that one on one talk that one time – maybe two – and he wasn't a complete jerk then so she knew he had some feelings in him but to admit them so publically like this. That was a shock.

Puck finishes and Sam is out of his chair in an instant.

"Stop the violence," Brittany deadpans, right before Sam sucker punches Puck right in the jaw.

"Whoa," Mr. Schue says, finally out of his musically educed stupor – slow songs do that to him – and he moves to separate the two now jostling boys. "Cut it out!"

"Tell that to Puck!" Sam yells, reaching over Mr. Schue for a grip on Puck's shirt.

"Me?" Puck yells, incredulous. "I didn't do anything to you."

"Don't act stupid, Puckerman," Sam sneers, barking out a humorless laugh. "Even though I know it's a default mode for you."

"What's default mean?" Brittany whispers to Artie and he shushes her.

Puck rushes at Sam again, and Mr. Schue pushes him back, hard. "Maybe you should go cool off, Puck."

Puck's eyes widen just a bit before he huffs out a "fine" and takes off, not looking back once.

"You too, Sam," Mr. Schue says, gesturing to the corner. "Go take a breather over there."

Quinn's eyes follow the blonde boy as she sits there, holding her hands in her lap tightly.

"I'm impressed Q," Santana whispers, leaning over the girl's shoulder. "Two years in a row you've had guys going fist-to-cuffs over you and you didn't even have to put out this time."

"Leave her alone Santana," Rachel says, turning around in her seat after having heard the remark.

Santana frowns unhappily but she sits back, much to her own chagrin.

It was only because Brittany was getting ready to sing.

Quinn's eyes cut to Rachel's and she mouths "Thanks."

"You're welcome," Rachel mouths back.

***O*O***

"It was really hard for Brittany to come up with a self-reflection song," Artie starts, wheeling along the front row.

Brittany shrugs. "I hear the word reflection and automatically think mirrors."

"So I told her to just sing what she feels."

"And I told him I didn't think they made very many songs about gas."

"But I meant what she feels in her heart."

"And so I came up with this," Brittany says, lowering her eyes a little bit. "It's from San's favorite movie."

Quinn giggles and looks to Santana who is hunching just a little lower in her seat.

"Hit it," Artie says, pointing to cue the band.

The first notes come out and Rachel and Finn both bark out a laugh and then turn to glare at each other immediately after.

Only Brittany.

Santana's entire face is red – which is strange because ethnic people don't really blush – by the time Brittany makes her way over to her.

_Misses Santana, ma'am  
What will your pleasure be?  
Let me take your order  
Jot it down  
You ain't never had a friend like me_

By the end everyone's up and dancing along – very true to fashion for a Disney musical number. Everyone, that is, except Santana, who's sitting with her hands folded across her chest and biting her lip hard to hold back the smile.

She fails miserably when Brittany finishes the song with a shoulder up-down and kiss to her right cheek.

"Ha ha," Mr. Schue laughs, clapping his hands loudly. "That was very nice Brittany, Artie."

"And look at that smile," Brittany whispers into the Latina' ear, nudging Santana's shoulder before making her way back to the seat next to Artie.

Santana beams again, against her will, and Rachel clears her throat to speak.

"While I didn't have a very difficult time selecting a song one of my fellow Glee clubbers did and, even though I'd been refused assistance when I needed it most, I'm not the type of person to hold a grudge so Tina and I are doing a duet of sorts."

Tina ignores the look Mercedes is giving her and smiles awkwardly when Mike gives her an overly emphatic thumbs up.

Tina starts and Rachel watches as the girl melts into the song.

_Do you ever feel like a plastic bag  
Drifting through the wind  
Wanting to start again_

Rachel comes in on the bridge and it's a nice blend, their two voices.

_You just gotta ignite the light  
And let it shine  
Just own the night  
Like the Fourth of July_

Cause baby you're a firework  
Come on show 'em what your worth  
Make 'em go "Oh, oh, oh!"  
As you shoot across the sky-y-y

Even the daftest of persons can figure out that these two girls are not singing about the same thing.

Rachel's whole vibe is like this is me, take it or leave it.

And Tina's whole vibe is like…not. She seems melancholy almost, wistful even.

It's something they all can't quite figure out.

Mr. Schue – like always – is just thrilled about the performance, not taking the song to mean much more than it already does and maybe that's where he's a good guy. Who knows if they can even process what they're feeling right now?

But then again, stopping to look it over might have saved a lot of people a lot of heartbreak.

Finally it's Finn's turn and he's pumped, having wanted to do this ever since he overheard that phone call in the boys' locker room.

"You ready Finn?" Mr. Schue asks, noting again that the boy is wearing all black.

"As I'll ever be, Mr. Schue," Finn tells him, nodding in Mike's direction.

The other boy nods once in encouragement, pressing the play button on the stereo system they had set up. And off Finn goes, smirk on his face, eyes dark and narrowed.

_Hey girl, is he everything you wanted in a man?  
You know I gave you the world  
You had me in the palm of your hand  
So why your love went away  
I just can't seem to understand  
Thought it was me and you babe  
Me and you until the end  
But I guess I was wrong_

Mike's jaw is on the floor. So, yeah, this was totally not what he meant when he told Finn to express himself. And especially not-

_You spend your nights alone and he never comes home  
And every time you call him all you get's a busy tone  
I heard you found out that he's doing to you  
What you did to me, ain't that the way it goes_

When you cheated girl my heart bleeded girl  
So it goes without saying that you left me feeling hurt  
Just a classic case, a scenario  
Tale as old as time, girl you got what you deserved

Finn finishes the song with a shrug in Quinn's direction and she marches right over to Sam without a word.

The boy looks dumbfounded because he can't believe Finn's even singing about this stuff, but even more so because Quinn's believing Finn.

"Is it true?" she asks him, voice like steel.

"Quinn," Sam says, standing up slowly. "Listen-"

She slaps him hard across the face, holding back tears and Sam's hand flies to his cheek. "How could you?" she whispers brokenly.

Sam doesn't know what to say because he's so floored and Quinn turns from him to go collect her things, finding Finn in her path.

His face doesn't give him away but his words do. "How's it feel?"

She slaps him too, for good measure, and leaves just as the bell is ringing.

***O*O***

"Wow," Kurt says, putting his nearly empty drink back down. "See what happens when Glee club is deprived of me?"

"I know. It's like everyone needs a little Kurt fab in their life," Mercedes agrees, sitting across from him with a few tater tots left on her plate.

They're at the mall because –let's face it – this is Lima, Ohio and at the risk of pissing off any Lima Lovers it's effing boring.

"Well, I'm going to call Finn because what he did was just unacceptable. Doing that to Quinn. And then Puck's thing?"

"I know right," Mercedes agrees, sitting forward a little. "Tina and I still think he's hiding something. He swears he didn't knock anybody up but, come on, why was he shopping for a stroller then?"

"I'm more surprised by Sam, actually," Kurt muses, brushing his hair back. "Do you think he really cheated?"

"I don't know. He seemed more shocked than anything, but, he didn't refute it either so…"

"Well, I don't think it's true. Unless of course he was with another boy…"

"Come off it, Kurt," Mercedes smiles, shaking her head at her crazy friend.

"Crap," the hear someone mutter right before crashing into their table and sending Mercedes' cold milkshake directly into Kurt's much too expensive lap.

"Oh, dude, I'm so sorry," the guy rushes to say, scrambling to another table to get some napkins just as his friend runs up.

"You should be," Kurt screeches, dapping at his lap. "These are brand new Valentino's."

"And you're wearing them at the mall?" the other guy questions, quirking an eyebrow.

Kurt purses his lips but holds back the comment and Mercedes…continues to stare.

The tall guy, the one who'd ran into her table, is watching Kurt clean up his pants and in any other circumstance it would be weird, her watching a guy stare at Kurt's crotch but for some reason it's not.

Maybe it's because this guy is hawt.

"I could buy you some new pants," the taller guy offers, scratching his neck awkwardly. He wasn't entirely sure what Valentino's were but he was hoping they were pants.

"No," Kurt says, his pants damp as well as his anger. "It's fine. I'm fine. Just overreacted."

"You could say that again," the shorter guy says, tossing a football from one hand to the other.

Kurt's eyes narrow. "Didn't your mother teach you not to play ball indoors?"

The short guy just laughs, gesturing at his friend to leave. "Come on, Benjamin. Let's get outta here before this guy blows his top again."

"I'm really sorry, guy. Let me buy you another milkshake at least," Benjamin, he now has a name, offers politely.

"It was…actually, hers," Kurt says haltingly, sitting back down and finally looking at Mercedes, his friend, who was not breathing.

Benjamin turns and finally glimpses Mercedes too and Oh jeez, we may be here a while.

"Want another one?" Benjamin asks, flashing her a smile.

Mercedes giggles like a fool and Kurt cannot help but smile.

"It's okay. I was almost done anyway," she manages to say, her voice lacking its usual brashness.

"Are you sure?" the boy asks, raising an eyebrow and fixing her with a look that says 'say no'.

But she doesn't, she just nods, and soon enough the other boy is yanking on Benjamin's arm, pulling him away.

Kurt lets her stare for a few more minutes before clearing his throat amusedly. "Are we back on the planet now or are you still floating in the sky?"

Mercedes ducks her head bashfully and throws a tater tot at him. "Shut it up."

"Cedes has a crush," Kurt sing-songs laughing when she rolls her eyes. "Come on. Let's follow them."

Mercedes grins and rolls her eyes again. "Yeah, because that's totally _not_ lame."

"No, it's so not. And, come on, you know you want to."

Mercedes hesitates for just a moment before climbing out of the booth, the gossip hound in her coming out. "Okay. But if we get caught I'm making you watch reality TV. for a week."

"Unfair. You know how that stuff messes with my head. I start to talk like Kim Kardashian and that's disssgusting."

***O*O***

Quinn doesn't really feel up to this.

After the day she's had she just wants to go home and crawl under the covers.

Problem is, when she drove home, Sam's car was in the driveway and she did not want to deal with that…or him.

Whatever.

She didn't really have any place to go and realizing that they did have a study date that afternoon Quinn figured what's the worst that could happen?

Answer: this.

"Oh, hello," a man says, opening the front door wide. "It's Quinn Fabray. Sweetie, Quinn Fabray's here!" the older man calls up the stairs. He's wearing an apron – a pink floral one at that – and she suspects he's also wearing Chanel no. 5.

"How are you sweetie? Are you hungry? Tired? Do you need something to drink?"

She can't get an answer out anyways and before she knows it she's in the kitchen being pushed into a chair and practically spoon fed raspberry blintzes.

And she totally gets where Rachel gets her over-enthusiasm from.

"Hey…Quinn," Rachel says haltingly, stepping gingerly into her own kitchen like she's the stranger. "What are you doing here?"

Quinn re-assumes her role as top girl and pushes herself into a standing position, hands on her hips. "We have a Spanish project to work on," she says, authoritative voice covering her emotions.

"Oh," Rachel states, falling back into her role as well. "I just wasn't really expecting you after what happened earlier in Glee club."

"I'm fine," Quinn assures her, sounding more sure of it than she can even imagine being.

"Great," Rachel smiles, turning to her father. "I see you've already met my dad."

"Yeah," Quinn starts, nodding at the man slowly. "I was a little perplexed as to how he knows my name."

Rachel stares at her like she has two heads. "My dads have been at every New Directions performance."

Quinn's not surprised. "Get out," she says overly dramatic, and while Rachel catches it, Rachel's dad doesn't.

"That's right. Malik and I have been at every one of our little pumpkin's shows," he gushes, moving over to Rachel and pinching her cheek.

Quinn tries valiantly to hide a grin but it shows anyway and Rachel blushes. "_Dad_."

"I'm sorry. Well, I'll leave you two alone to get working on your project."

"Bye Dad."

"Thanks for the blintzes Mister…Berry?" Quinn says, sort of.

"Oh no, sweetie. Call me Ishmael. Holler if you need me. Toodles," the man says, breezing out of the kitchen with a flourish.

"Your dad…" Quinn starts, shaking her head slowly. "He's-"

"Yeah," Rachel cuts her off, looking embarrassed. "Let's go to my room."

Quinn follows obediently, noting that every inch of wall space is covered up with Rachel doing…something; Rachel at the zoo, Rachel at the park, Rachel at the mailbox even.

It was a bit much.

Then they got to her room.

"You have got to be kidding me," Quinn laughs, taking in the surroundings.

So her room was like every other girl's room and she knew about that much from watching Rachel's YouTube videos, but this?

"You have gold star's everywhere."

"You know about my gold star thing, Quinn," Rachel says lightly, falling onto her bed. "Everyone does."

"Yeah," Quinn nods absently, still looking around. "But Santana told me something else about gold stars that I found pretty interesting."

"What did she tell you?"

Quinn's face suddenly heats up, not willing to bring up that topic. At least not here and now. "Nothing. Let's get started on the project, yeah?"

***o*O*o***

**Songs in this chapter include:**

_Dreaming With A Broken Heart_ by John Mayer

_Firework_ by Katy Perry

_Friend Like Me_ as performed by Robin Williams

_What Goes Around/Comes Back Around_ by Justin Timberlake


	5. Chapter 5

_**Disclaimer: Don't own. Just borrowing.**_

**A/N: **Glad Glee is back. Enjoyed last night's episode. Any of you guys have an opinion on it. Thanks for reading and reviewing. P.S. From now own, the bold italics are the intro POVs and the italics are flashbacks because those lines are confusing and the formatting on this site is horrible.

* * *

_**Sometimes I'm almost certain Santana loves me.**_

_**Most times I know she likes me.**_

_**But other times I'm not so sure.**_

_**She's confusing. **_

_**She's like recipes, or, oh, or that song about the walrus.**_

_**You know, I am he as you are he as you are me and we are all together…**_

**_What does that even _mean_?_**

_**Anyway, San's confusing like that.**_

_**Like, when she used to blow me off for Puck, I wasn't sure.**_

_**Or, when I begged her not to go to the 8th Grade Spring Formal with Matt and she still did, I wasn't sure.**_

_**But when I showed up with a red nose and bleary-eyed to that same dance and she never left my side, I'd never been more sure of anything in my entire life.**_

"What's up Britt?" Artie says, rolling up next to the contemplative blonde.

"Nothing," she answers quickly, slamming her locker closed. "Why, what have you heard?"

Artie gives her a look. "I haven't heard…anything. You just looked…vacant."

"I'm not a drifter, Artie," she assures him, leaning down to kiss his cheek.

"Can you two keep your public displays of affection down to a minimum?" Santana grumbles, skirt swaying as she sashays up to them. "It's too early in the morning and I'd like to at least digest my food before it comes up again."

Brittany rolls her eyes – or tries to; she mostly just blinks slowly.

"No one's making you look, Santana," Artie pipes up, gripping Brittany's hand in his own.

Santana almost looks comical, the way her eyes widen in shock. Is the wheelchair boy actually speaking back to her?

"And, if you have such a problem with us, then maybe you shouldn't join us at the carnival this weekend," he adds, nodding once in satisfaction at actually standing up – no pun – for himself.

Brittany's eyes widen as Santana smirks and she knows what is about to happen. Santana's on the cusp of delivering a remark so deliciously scathing it'll cut little Artie to the core and the blonde can't have that.

Artie's a nice boy and he is her boyfriend, so she shoots Santana the most pleading look she can, silently begging her best friend to let it go.

Santana's smirk falters just a bit, cottoning on to Brittany's look and she narrows her eyes, holding her head up defiantly. "Maybe I won't then," she tells him, raising an arch eyebrow and brushing past both of them, casting a pointed look in Brittany's direction.

**-ooOoo-**

"Quinn!" Sam calls out, finally spotting the girl down at the end of the hallway.

As far as he knows, she's missed most of her morning classes.

After all, he'd stood outside each one waiting for her to show up.

Quinn just keeps walking, her ponytail swishing back and forth in defiance.

"Quinn, come on!" the boy calls again, running down the hall and dodging bodies to catch up with her. "Will you just talk to me?"

Quinn turns a corner and there are even more people in the hallway than necessary slowing her momentum, and she sighs at not being able to bulldoze her way through the throngs of bodies.

Sam catches up to her and grasps her elbow, and she spins around quickly, her eyes flashing dangerously. "Do _not _touch me."

"Will you please…just, talk to me?" Sam pleads, his eyes serious.

Quinn rolls hers, swallowing against a tight throat and upset at herself for even getting upset. She's been in this situation with boys before. "I have _nothing_ to say to you," she grits out, attempting to turn around, but he's quicker and in front of her before she knows it.

"Then, listen to me," he says, eyes boring into her own. "Now, I don't know what's going on with Hudson, but I am _not_ cheating on you."

The blonde cheerio's eyes narrow. "Then why would he say that?"

"I have no friggin' idea. He's jealous? He's still in love with you? Whatever it is I'm going to kick his ass for it but I assure you that you're the only girl for me," he finishes softly, talking her hand. "You have to know this, Q."

Quinn's mind is racing and things are coming at her so fast: Puck and Sam fighting, Puck storming out, Finn's smug look as he sings, telling her that she's gotten burned; it's all too much and she doesn't know exactly what to trust right now…

…or whom.

"I…" she starts, her voice wavering and she shuts her eyes tightly to maintain control. When she speaks again, the tremors are gone. "I don't know if I do," she finally tells him, pulling her hand away and pressing the gold band into his palm, ignoring the shocked expression on Sam's face.

She walks away from him.

**-ooOoo-**

"Hey babe."

Santana groans irritably, still looking over the handouts they'd been given, "What do you want Puckerman?"

"Ouch. Is this the thanks I get for listening to you whine all night because if it is, I'm not gonna put bros before hos anymore. I passed up some serious cougar tail for your ass," Puck says, tugging on her elbow and trying to get her to smile. "C'mon Lopez. Why so serious?" he drawls in his best Heath Ledger impression and that does it.

She grins in spite of her best efforts not to. "You don't have this class this period. Why are you harassing me?"

"I wanted to ask a favor."

"No. I told you , I operate by the 'exit only' rule."

"Not _that_ favor," he grins. "Although…"

"Stop," she smirks, propping her head up on her hand to look at him. "What's the favor?"

"Well…remember what we were talking about last night…"

"_Jesus, Lopez. You can really put it away, can't you?"_

_They were at Breadstix, and Puck was watching with a slackened jaw as Santana systematically stored away food somewhere on her slim frame. _

_Santana rolls her eyes, but her cheeks redden anyway. "I'm hungry."_

"_No, really?" he states sardonically, wincing when she kicks him in the shin. "God, you're so violent when you're not getting any."_

"_Who says I'm not getting any?"_

"_Artie," Puck shoots back, enjoying the rage that blooms across her face. "I don't think you're flexible enough to work around the wheelchair."_

"_Shut up," she grumbles, stabbing her chicken parmesan a little more violently than intended._

"_Whatever. Just between me and you I don't think those two stand a chance. They're just like…trying each other out," he says, knowing enough about Santana to know that she needed some cheering up._

_It's honestly a little pathetic how she's so hesitant with the Brittany thing, but it's something she has to figure out._

_Just like his thing._

_Santana looks up to him, her dark eyes signaling that this conversation is over. "Who were you singing about?"_

_Now it's Puck's turn to look away, "No one."_

_Santana snorts. "I'm sure. Seriously, who?"_

_Puck looks visibly nervous, and it's such an oddly placed look that Santana puts her fork down, staring at him. _

"_Promise you won't laugh?"_

_Santana's jaw drops. "I swear to God, Puck, if you were singing about Lauren-"_

"_Beth," he says, cutting her off and speaking before he loses his nerves. "I was singing about Beth."_

"Yeah," she says softly, more attentive now. "What about it?"

"Well, at the hospital, when all the paperwork was being passed around and stuff, and when I waived off all my parental rights," Puck grits that last part out, upset because that wasn't mostly his decision, "Ms. Corcoran said that, if Quinn and I wanted, we could visit her. You know, just to like, check up and stuff."

Santana nods, "Okay, and…"

"And I wanna go," he finally spits out, twisting the piece of notebook paper he has in his hands to bits. "I…I just want to see her. I want to know that she's okay."

"That's cool," she says, a little confused by his behavior, "I guess. But, what I don't get is why you're telling me–" she says, her eyes widening in realization just a few seconds later. "No way, Puckerman. No."

"C'mon, Santana. Quinn's made it clear that she's not opening up that part of her life again and I can't go alone-"

"I can't Puck. I suck with babies. And, you know what else? I kind of can't stand the Corcoran bitch. She tried to screw us over at regionals with the St. James stunt."

"You don't even have to do or say anything, okay," he pleads, clasping his hands together. "You'll just be there for moral support. C'mon, Lopez, do it for me."

And because she has nothing better to do (and also because he's kind of like her interim best friend) she agrees.

**-ooOoo-**

"I'm only going to ask this one time, and one time only. Are you cheating on me with Brittany?"

Mike's entire face breaks out into laughter. He can't even help it.

They're in their Chemistry class early, waiting on Mercedes to show and round off their trio.

"Are you serious? Brittany? Really?" he laughs out, slapping his thighs.

"You're spending an awful lot of time with her lately," she says, eyeing him suspiciously still.

"Tina, oh my God, stop. You're killing me," he says, holding a hand to his aching ribs. "Britt and I dance. You know that."

"I know. But, that's how we started out. Friends hanging out, then we were something more and I was breaking Artie's heart." Her mouth stretches out into a frown and Mike settles down, sensing her concern.

"That's…we're different, okay? We like each other and yeah, the timing really sucked, but it's not like that with Britt. She's like a sister to me, okay? So, there's no need to worry about that," he tells her, scooting closer so that he can drape an arm around her. "I'll never break your heart."

Tina's lips upturn at the corners and she leans into him cutely, kissing his cheek just as Mercedes pulls up a chair to their lab table. "You guys are never gonna guess what happened yesterday," she starts excitedly.

"You met some guy named Benjamin," Mike says easily, eyes alit.

"And he's a total cutie," Tina adds on, smiling at Mercedes' stunned look.

"Okay, how the hell did you guys do that?" she asks blankly.

"Kurt told us all about it," Tina fills in. "You're not the only person who has him on speed dial, girl."

"That boy," Mercedes mutters, rolling her eyes, slightly peeved that he'd stolen her thunder, but she brightens instantly again. "Whatever. I'm still going to tell you every detail."

"_I think they went into Sports Authority," Mercedes whispers, tugging Kurt in that direction._

"_No, I'm sure it was Linens N' Things," Kurt whispers back, moving in the opposite direction._

"_Why on earth would two teenage boys go into a linen store?" she asks him, raising an eyebrow._

_Kurt looks confused. "Why wouldn't they?"_

"_C'mon," she says, tugging him to the sports equipment store and pushing open the entry door._

_Or trying to anyway._

"_Let me," a voice behind her says, an open palm shifting right beside hers and pushing the door open with ease._

_Mercedes steps inside the store, turning around to face Benjamin, Colin, and a smirking Kurt._

"_Thank you," she breathes out, her voice airy and Kurt hides a giggle._

"_No problem. They can be tricky sometimes," Benjamin says, moving in beside her._

"_What can?"_

"_Doors," he answers with a smile, and Mercedes feels her body get warm._

"_For crying out loud," Colin interjects, clearly the more abrasive personality of the two. "Because this might take forever at the rate you two are going. We, Ben and I, were going to get something to eat. Now, I know you just ate but you're welcome to join us. Watch or whatever. I don't care. _I_ just can't bear to watch another minute of this."_

_Colin, although slightly annoying about it, has a point and Kurt can't help but agree. "Yes, let's just go somewhere and talk. Over coffee perhaps?"_

"_Sounds good," Benjamin shrugs, clearly not taking issue with anything being said._

"_Okay," Mercedes grins, following them all back out._

_A short while later and they're at Starbucks and she is completely fawning all over Benjamin: from St. Mary's School for Boys. Benjamin: the middle child of three boys. Benjamin: the cutest guy on the planet._

_Swoon._

_Benjamin brings a hand up to scratch at his chin and she notices everything about him: the light mustache adorning his upper lip, the beginnings of a goatee, the overall perfection of his hands from the smoothness of his knuckles to the cleanliness of his nails…_

_Hold on._

"_You're not gay are you?"_

_It's the most tactless question ever and Benjamin's frozen coffee slides down his windpipe._

_Colin laughs and pats his best bud on the back. "He's not gay, 'Cedes."_

"_I'm surprised," Kurt offers off-handedly, swirling his straw around in his drink, his brow furrowed. "I'm not trying to offend you or anything but my radar is pinging," the boy finishes with a smile._

"_Well, Colin's gay," Benjamin says, face serious and Kurt outright laughs._

"_Yeah right."_

_Colin bristles. "I am," he fires back, not finding anything about the revelation of his sexuality remotely funny. "What's it to you?"_

"_It's not," Kurt manages, entirely shocked. "I…I just didn't think-"_

"_Yeah," Colin cuts him off, annoyed, "You didn't. Whatever though. It's not like you're my type anyway."_

_Kurt's eyes narrow, somewhat chagrined. "Well, now there's something else we have in common, because I don't harbor any wanton desires for you either."_

"_Good."_

"_Great."_

"_Fantastic."_

"_Marvelous."_

"_Super."_

"_Fabulous."_

"_Okay, stop," Benjamin intervenes, finding the entire exchange hilarious. "You guys can adjective spar, later. Right now, I want to know about Miss Jones here."_

"And we spent the whole rest of the evening talking. I think Colin and Kurt got extremely bored, but whatever, we're all hanging out again this weekend."

"That's awesome, Mercedes," Tina nods, smiling at her friend. "I'm really happy for you."

"_You're_ happy for me? Girl, I'm ecstatic. I thought the great love of my life was going to be tater tots."

**-ooOoo-**

"Hello."

Quinn looks up and then looks to either side of her. "Are you actually speaking to me? There are people around. Popular people. I thought we discussed this."

Rachel frowns, holding her lunch tray tighter. "I thought that after last night-"

"_Last night_," Quinn interrupts, a little more piercingly than she'd intended to. "We worked on our Spanish project and that's all. Nothing more."

Rachel's frown deepens. "You just keep telling yourself that, Quinn. One of these days you'll come to realize who your true friends are," the brunette says, her voice full of conviction. She masterfully spins on her heel, nearly colliding with a lurking Santana, who'd caught the entire exchange.

"Excuse me, Santana," Rachel sniffs, storming off without another word.

"What was that about?" Santana asks, approaching the table slowly.

"I don't know. Maybe because she's so little her PMS symptoms are ostracized," Quinn shrugs, turning back to her food. "What do you want?"

Santana's shoulders tense but she lets the rudely asked question roll off her back. "I saw you eating by yourself."

Quinn's eyes shoot up to look at the other girl, questioning but guarded, "And…"

"And…" she starts, almost feeling the need to get it all off her chest. Almost. She reins it in though, "…I don't feel like sitting on some guy on the football team's lap today," she says, smiling in the way that lets Quinn know that that's far from the reason she's sitting with the girl.

Quinn nods and Santana slips into the seat next to her.

They're quiet and Santana busies herself with a cup of pudding while Quinn digs into her sandwich.

"Do I need to kick his ass?"

Quinn hides a smile behind her sandwich, "I'm not sure yet."

"Let me know."

****O****

"Okay guys," Mr. Schuester says, clasping his hands together and taking in the appearance of his club.

Quinn's glaring at Finn and Sam.

Puck is glaring at Sam.

Sam's glaring at Finn and Puck, interspersed with some longing glances in Quinn's direction.

Artie is looking at Santana, who's looking disinterestedly at her nails, but even he can tell that's just a ploy to not meet Brittany's wounded puppy gaze.

Finn is smirking, Mercedes looks euphoric, Rachel is annoyed, and Mike and Tina just look plain uncomfortable.

And Lauren…doesn't give a crap.

"Are we actually going to do anything today?" Lauren asks, raising her hand slightly, "Because if not, I've got wrestling practice."

"No, we're…I've got a lesson. This week, you've all been giving me insight as to what's going on with you guys and I have to say, I'm a bit surprised, and frankly a little upset that I haven't been doing as much as I can as a teacher to help you guys out. For that I apologize. But, listening to you guys, it's clear that we have some major trust issues. And, that's not gonna work. A chain is only as strong as its weakest link. To be successful, we can't have any weak links. We're a team. And in order to fully embrace that, we have to start trusting each other again. I think, that the first step to that is learning to respect one another. I don't care if you can't stand one another but, in here, you're going to give each other respect. Am I understood?"

It's the sternest he's ever spoken to them – outside of that one time with Britney Spears – and the message lands and everyone, albeit some more reluctant than others, nods.

"Okay and to kick this off I've come up with a little exercise." Will ducks behind the piano and pulls out his trusty hat. They all groan this time.

"Yes, I know. He's got the dumb hat again, but humor me though. Remember, it's all about respect," Mr. Schue smiles, walking up the first row. "I've got your names in here. Whoever you pull out, you have to come up with one positive thing about that person. And then…next week…" he grins here, building the suspense, "You're to sing a duet with them."

"Please don't let me get Berry. Please don't let me get Berry," Santana mumbles to herself before she reaches into the hat.

She grasps a slip of paper and unfolds it, her face falling comically. "Artie," she mutters.

Puck grimaces and Brittany claps excitedly, knowing that this will give her boyfriend and her best friend more time to spend together. Maybe they'd finally get along.

Quinn's next and she rolls her eyes at what the slip reveals to her: "Finn."

Finn looks mildly uncomfortable, "Can't she pick again?"

Sam gets Rachel, which is kind of weird.

And Brittany gets Puck which is _very_ weird.

Mercedes and Mike are paired, which should make for an easy assignment and Tina draws out Lauren's name, rounding out the pairings.

"Remember kids, the object of the game is respect. I'm looking forward to everyone's presentations," Will adds, leaving the room as the bell rings.

Quinn's gathering her things when she feels Finn's shadow looming over her.

"When do you want to get together to work on this?"

"Bite me potato head. I'd rather fail than be anywhere near you," she tells him, tossing her ponytail back with a flourish and walking out of the choir room, Sam staring dejectedly after her.

"I'm so excited, you guys," Brittany squeals, looping an arm around both Santana's and Artie's neck, and squeezing tight. "We're gonna be like the Three Musketeers. Only with less nougat and chocolate."

"I'm so over this already," Santana mumbles, narrowing her eyes at a slightly peeved Artie.

**-ooOoo-**

"Hey guys," Finn says easily, breezing into the studio.

He's not expecting Mike and Brittany to meet him at the entrance, arms folded tightly across their chests, and wearing matching frowns.

"What?"

"You're a meanie," Brittany says, poking him hard in the chest with a pout.

"You did bad, bro," Mike informs him, eyes hard, backing Finn into a corner. "You don't go around hurting girls like that."

"You're the ones that told me to express myself," Finn said, his cheeks flushing angrily. "So I did. It's not my fault that Sam's cheating on Quinn, or that she's getting exactly what she had coming. I'm just the delivery boy."

"You're an ass," Brittany tells him, her face flushed because one, she almost never swears, and two, she's kind of a lot pissed. Quinn's her friend and Finn just completely tried to humiliate her.

"Look, this wouldn't even be an issue if anyone else had told Quinn. But, because it's me, it's all 'evil Finn goes messing up a good thing'. I didn't do anything except tell her the truth."

"It's the way you went about it, man. That was un-cool. There are easier ways to break the truth to someone and you know it. You wanted to hurt that girl," Mike says, not falling for Finn's 'kill the messenger' act.

"Well, maybe I did," Finn finally explodes, moisture welling in his eyes. "Maybe I did want her to hurt as badly as I did when Rachel told me the truth. Maybe I wanted her to feel the sting I felt when I stood there in front of all of you and pleaded with her to tell me something different, tell me that the little girl growing inside hers was ours and maybe Rachel was making it up; Tell me that she'd never cheat on me and that she loved me and that, somehow, some way, we were going to be a family. But she couldn't…" he trails off, sliding against the wall until he hits the floor, hands over his eyes.

Mike shares a look with Brittany who pretty much dropped all the anger as soon as Finn started to cry. "Finn," she whispers brokenly, moving to sit next to him on the floor and wrapping an arm around his shoulder.

"I loved her so much," he manages, choking back sobs. "And I loved our baby too."

"I know," Brittany whispers, stroking his shoulder soothingly and trying to shush him. She looks up to Mike, not really knowing what to do.

"And then, then they were both gone, you know? Snatched away from me. And it was like I had nothing. No one."

Mike sits down now, right in front of both of them, punching Finn lightly in the knee. It'd be weird if he were like, to hold his hand or something. "Hey, guy. You have us," he says, nudging him again. "It'll be alright. Won't it Britt?"

"Absolutely. San says that every cloud is made of cotton candy," Brittany states, nodding once as if that makes it all better.

Finn laughs, the sound cutting into his tears, "Okay."

She probably meant the silver lining thing but it'll do.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note:**Thanks for reading and reviewing.

**Disclaimer:**Don't own. Just borrowing. (Although sometimes I wish I kinda did)

* * *

_**This is pathetic.**_

_**I'm supposed to be bad ass; they don't call me Puckerone for nothing.**_

_**I'm so badass that Chuck Norris calls me for pointers.**_

_**But seriously, somebody should really lay into that clown for being a ginger.**_

**_Freckles are _not_ bad ass._**

_**So, like I was saying, I'm the number one trouble starter – and finisher – around these parts and yet here I am, standing in front of a door so nervous that Santana actually feels the need to hold my hand.**_

_**She hasn't done that since the third grade when I licked mine before grabbing hers.**_

_**Ah, my first crotch shot.**_

_**I remember it well.**_

_**Anyway, I know I'm out of it because she's letting me hold hers back and if I look any way near what I actually feel then I know she's probably only holding on so I don't pass out.**_

Puck's body is shaking so hard that he misses the doorbell twice.

Santana turns wide eyes at him but he just shrugs, chuckling humorlessly. "I haven't eaten in a while."

Santana rolls her eyes but she doesn't say anything, opting to stand next to him in silence.

There's some noise behind the door and Puck tenses instantly, squeezing the life out of her hand.

"Would you calm down?" she hisses at the boy, squeezing his clammy hand equally as hard. "I can't believe you got me to do this."

"I'm trying," he shoots back, feeling like he's about to throw up. "Maybe this wasn't such a good idea."

"No way, Puckerman. You're taking up one of my evenings so we are doing this right now."

"Not like you had anything _better_ to do," he grumbles and before she can retort – or cause him physical harm – the door in front of them opens.

Shelby's standing there, a baby cradled in her arms. "You're early," she announces unnecessarily with a smile, bouncing the giggling baby girl up and down a little, "But your timing couldn't have been better. She just woke up from a nap."

Puck's staring.

Like, staring, staring.

The baby looks just like a miniature version of Quinn, from her green eyes, to her tiny nose, to the little tuft of blonde hair poking up in the middle.

It's like looking at Quinn if the girl somehow shrank one hundred times over.

He's never seen anything so beautiful.

"Noah?" Shelby questions, quirking an eyebrow at the boy.

"C'mon Noah," Santana grits out, squeezing the boy's hand extremely hard, "Wouldn't want to keep Miss Corcoran waiting."

He finally manages to get his body to move, reaching out to gingerly place a hand on the little girl's head.

Beth gurgles and squeals happily, her chubby cheeks protruding as she looks at him.

"She likes you already," Shelby states warmly, smiling at the way Puck's throat works, swallowing over and over as his eyes light up. "Come on inside," Shelby says, stepping aside to allow the two teenagers to walk by her.

**-ooOoo-**

Sam pulls open his front door to a wide-smiling Rachel.

"Good evening Sam."

"Hi…Rachel," he says, stepping aside to let her in. Actually, he really just moves out of the way as she waltzes in without permission but you know, potato, potahto.

She stands in the entryway, holding her purse primly in her hands. "You have a lovely home."

"Thanks," he states haltingly, closing the door. "Speaking of homes, how did you know where I lived?"

"Oh, don't be ridiculous Sam, I asked Quinn."

"You…talk to Quinn?"

Rachel waves her hand, not wanting to explain all of that. "She and I can be occasionally cordial, but that's neither here nor there. And, I'll have you know that I am not even going to mention the current drama surrounding you and Quinn on this evening. Not a peep," she adds, twisting her lips with an imaginary key and casting it away.

Sam's whole body sags, amused. "Thanks. I guess. So, what are you doing here?"

The brunette's eyes widen. "The project of course. Why else would I be here?"

Before Sam can answer that one, a booming voice beckons him from further inside the house. "Samuel?"

"Crap," the blonde boy hisses, grabbing her hand. "C'mon. Coming Dad!"

They move quickly through the house, past an immaculate living room and through a perfectly set dining room until they reach the study, the scent of cigars and smoke wafting heavily throughout the room.

"Yeah Dad?" Sam asks and Rachel can see a man sitting in a barca lounger, back turned to them.

"Who was at the door?" the man asks gruffly, pulling on his cigar again.

"A friend," Sam answers, swallowing thickly, "A friend from school. She's here to work on a class project."

The man shifts in his seat, head turning toward them both and then his eyes land on Rachel, eyebrows raising. He looks very different from Sam. In fact, she'd never even know they were related if Sam weren't referring to him as "Dad". He's tall. Rachel can tell from how far his neck stretches beyond the seat, and he's well-built too.

"A friend?" Sam's father questions, eyes lingering on their entwined hands.

Rachel blushes and Sam lets her hand go like it's burning.

"A friend," Sam repeats, nodding once in the affirmative.

Sam's father appears unimpressed, blowing out a billow of thick smoke before grunting out, "Don't make too much noise."

Rachel chooses this moment to turn on her classic charm, stepping further into the room and extending a hand. "Pleasure to meet you, Sir. My name is Rachel Berry and Sam and I are in the same class. We also are in glee club together."

Mr. Evans raises his eyebrows at her hand and Sam plants his face into his. "That's too much noise," he gruffly states, his face taut as he watches the smile on Rachel's face falter somewhat.

"Sorry Dad," Sam mutters, stepping up and reaching a hand to Rachel's shoulder, tugging her back. "We'll keep it down."

Sam drags her away, Rachel looking more and more confused by the second. "What was that about?"

"Don't," Sam starts, tugging her up the stairs to his bedroom, "Just don't. I don't want to talk about it."

"But your dad," Rachel insists, taking it upon herself to take a seat on Sam's bed, "He's kind of…"

"Mean? A jerk? An asshole?" Sam fills in, taking a seat in a chair sitting across from his bed.

"I was going to say rude," Rachel smiles slightly. "But we can use your descriptors if you'd like."

Sam snorts, a small smile on his face. "Let's start on this project."

"Okay," Rachel smiles, reaching into the tote she'd brought with her. "Now, to assist you in your endeavor in finding something positive about me, I've written a twenty-page essay. It's broken down into the three sections: I recommend that you start with 'Berry: The Early Years' and I've also included an outline for quick referencing…"

_This is going to be a long night_, Sam thinks as he shakes his head, reluctantly taking the laminated report adorned with gold stars.

But he can't shake the smile.

**-ooOoo-**

Lauren stares at Tina.

Tina, in turn, stares back at Lauren.

They're sitting in a booth, a basket of fries on the table in between them.

And so it goes, back and forth, until Lauren finally speaks up.

"I got nothing."

"Me neither," Tina says with a shrug, taking a sip of her strawberry milkshake.

"No idea why we weren't friends before," Lauren smiles, munching on a fry. "We like so many of the same things: feminism, vampires…"

"Food," Tina adds, snagging one of Lauren's fries with a smirk.

"Hell yeah," Lauren agrees, smacking her hand against Tina's in a high-five.

Tina giggles, settling back down. "This project is going to be super-easy," she says, leaning in some. "So, can I ask you something then?"

"Yeah. Shoot."

"Well, how much do you know about love and relationships and stuff?"

"I know that they mostly suck, especially in high school because we change love interests more times than Puff Daddy, P. Diddy, Diddy Dirty Money reinvents himself."

"But, like, do you think it's possible to be in love with two people at once?"

Lauren thinks about it, her fingers drumming on the table-top in contemplation. "I…I really don't think so. I mean, I know you can love more than one person but 'in love'? That seems like it's kind of a stretch," Lauren eventually answers before taking a sip of her drink. "Why'd you ask?"

Tina shrugs, her smile a little less bright than before. "No reason. Just wondering."

And because Lauren doesn't know Tina – not really – she leaves it at that.

**-ooOoo-**

The Warblers are just finishing up their mash-up of _If You Can't Dance_ and _Dancing Machine_.

Yes.

It's epic.

Kurt takes a deep breath before walking over to Blaine, using his pointer finger to tap him lightly on the shoulder.

"Kurt, hey," Blaine says, smiling at him and waving off his other friends. "What's up?"

Kurt's cheeks warm, but he sucks it up and takes the plunge, "I was wondering if you'd…you know, sometime, want to go out some other time…with…me?"

A slow smile works its way across Blaine's face. "What?"

"I mean, you know, just for coffee or something," Kurt rushes to say, his hand gestures jumbling together like his words.

"We go out for coffee all the time," Blaine says, leaning back onto the back of sofa he's standing in front of. "It's pretty much _all _we do." He looks amused and Kurt feels the heat rise all the way to his ears, sure by now that he looks like one of the Keebler elves with how rosy his cheeks must be.

"I know. But, see, this time…I was hoping," Kurt stumbles along, "…that maybe, it could be like a date?"

Kurt winces at how insanely high his voice gets – Defying Gravity high – and waits with bated breath for Blaine to respond.

Blaine's smile falters a bit but he covers it up rather quickly or before Kurt notices anyway. "I'd love to," he says, standing up straight again. "But do me a favor?"

"Anything," Kurt breathes, relief flooding his features.

"Next time, let me do the asking," he says, smiling as he fixes the other boy's scarf. "You might be the first person in history to blush to death if you try that again."

**-ooOoo-**

Santana and Quinn are sitting side by side, waiting in Coach Sylvester's office while Becky stands on guard nearby.

"Any idea what this is about?" Quinn asks, hands folded neatly in her lap even though her stomach is turning over. Coach is all about appearances and it does not look good to have been cheated on, whether it's true or not.

Santana shrugs, still inspecting her nails, "She probably just wants to talk us up before nationals."

"You two are so clueless," Becky laughs, shaking her head as Coach flies into the room, moving quickly to her desk.

Once there she slowly lowers herself down into the chair, eyes silently scrutinizing the two cheerleaders in front of her.

"Q," she acknowledges her head cheerleader with a slight head nod before turning to Santana. "Ellen," she nods again, eyes narrowing faintly, "Where's Portia?"

Santana's eyes widen but before she has to answer, Brittany thankfully rushes in, taking a seat next to the other two. "Sorry Coach. We made finger traps in art class and I got my tongue stuck in mine."

"Save your elementary school excuses for someone who wants to hear them Brittany – possibly Oprah. Now, I'm sure you girls are smart enough to figure out why it is I've summoned you here today."

The three Cheerios look at each other, clueless. "Glee club?" Brittany offers.

"Right you are, Brittany. _Glee _club," Sue starts, standing suddenly and walking over to her window, peering out into the courtyard through the slats of the blinds. "That silly little semi-attractive group of sporadically-on-key wannabe stars has become like a zit on the middle of my back. Festering, growing, mocking me with its location and occasionally entertaining renditions of Madonna songs," she growls.

"Ladies, it's time for us to once and for all pop that zit," Sue says, turning her attention back to them. "I've given it a lot of thought and I think I've finally concocted the ultimate scheme to destroy Will Schuester for good but it'll require your assistance."

Sue beckons them forward and they all lean in, listening intently as she whispers her plan, face practically glowing with the prospect of conquering her enemy.

"Are we clear?" Sue asks, once done.

Brittany and Santana look at one another, shrugging slightly as Quinn nods. "Crystal."

Sue smirks. "Outstanding."

**-ooOoo-**

"Kurt, be cool," Mercedes says, strolling down the hall.

"Tell Hummel I said, 'what's up'," Karofsky sneers, launching a slushy directly at her but that girl has reflexes like a cat because she ducks and the icy beverage hits Rachel dead on.

Karofsky snorts, high-fiving Azimio. "Man, even when I miss I'm good."

"I'm sure your _girlfriend _doesn't agree with that sentiment," Rachel snaps, slushy still dripping from her face. "That is, if you've ever even had one."

Mercedes' jaw drops and Kurt gasps on the other end of the call, his Blaine date anxiety overshadowed momentarily.

"Leave it alone," Azimio warns, trying to hold off a slowly-approaching Karofsky. "You can't hit a girl, man."

Karofsky shakes off his grip, moving toward her regardless. "What did you say?" he asks quietly.

"I…I-I-I-I was only saying…that I…I don't think-" Rachel stammers out, looking for an escape.

"That I've ever had a girlfriend," Karofsky finishes for her, his voice eerily calm. "I heard you. Everyone heard you. And I don't appreciate being spoken to like that. From anyone," he grumbles, moving closer.

Her savior – in the form of a red and white Cheerio skirt – swooshes in front of her, hands on hips and face turned up, staring down the offender.

"David, David, David," Santana sucks her teeth, shaking her head, "I can't believe you've stooped this low on the totem pole. First Kurt and now, if I didn't know any better, it looks like you're about to hit a girl."

"Out of my way Santana," Karofsky grumbles, his fists tightening at his sides.

"No," she states, standing her ground and shifting so that she's standing squarely in front of Rachel. "Now, you can try to go through me but if you do they're going to have to re-write the answer to that riddle of 'what's black and white and red all over?' Your face if you even think about laying a finger on me."

Karofsky's eyes narrow, but his resolve is breaking and, after a few tense moments, he finally relents and lets Azimio drag him away.

Santana smirks at their retreating forms and almost gets taken down from behind by Rachel's arms suddenly clasping around her waist.

"Thank you Santana," the shorter girl says, holding on tightly.

Santana looks mortified and pries her hands off, keeping her at arm's length once she finally succeeds. "Who said you could touch me? I truly hope you didn't transfer any of your hobbit cooties."

Rachel smiles, wiping her eyes. "Thank you," she repeats, watching the other girl squirm uncomfortably.

"Yeah, whatever," she grumbles, scuffing the floor with her shoe. "Go wash your face or something."

Rachel leaves and Santana stands there in the hallway, feeling the heat of more than a few pairs of eyes on her. "What are you people looking at? Nothing to see here."

**-ooOoo-**

Puck's in a freaking awkward position.

He knows a few things, things he probably shouldn't, but it's all good because it's not like he's a gossip monger like the rest of these post-pubescent miscreants.

So he'd never like, let people know he knows some things, but that doesn't mean he can't hint like a mo-fo.

And that's how he finds himself in the lunchroom, smiling as he's heading over to Artie and Brittany's table, intent on doing his girl a solid.

Like she did for him.

Now how he's going to do that is another matter entirely.

"Can I sit here?" he asks, dropping his bags down before they can answer. "'Sup man?" he says to Artie, holding up a fist for a bump.

Artie ducks.

"Whoa, chill bro. We're like all kinds of cool now."

"I'm sorry," Artie says, pushing up his glasses. "I see a fist, I duck. It's instinct."

Puck laughs heartily, digging into his brown paper lunch sack and retrieving a Chinese food container.

Whatever.

It's only then that he notices the look Brittany's giving him.

"What?" he asks her, thinking he must have something gross on his face for her face to be screwed up like that.

"You smell like Santana," the blonde answers, her voice sharper than usual.

"Oh, yeah." he grins, shrugging slightly. "I just got out of class with her. I forget which one. She used my arm for a pillow."

Brittany doesn't say anything but she watches her jell-o jiggle for a while.

Puck turns to Artie, "So what's up?"

"We were actually just talking about our date this Saturday. We're going to the carnival," Artie tells him, and Brittany instantly brightens.

"It's going to be so cool and hopefully the fire-eaters are back. I'm gonna ask them if that's how people get heartburn," she says to Puck excitedly.

"That's cool. I'm doing something earlier on Saturday but maybe me and Santana'll swing through. Double up with you guys."

"Cool," Artie shrugs, not really caring.

But Brittany's frowning again. "Is that why San said she wasn't going with us? Because she's going somewhere with you?"

And now Puck sees his opportunity. "I don't think so. We only just made plans. But…you know, if you really want her to go Britt, I could ask her to reconsider."

He glances over to Artie, but the kid looks as clueless as ever, just smiling at Brittany once the girl lights up again.

He actually feels a little sorry for the guy.

But only a little.

"Would you Puck?" she asks, clasping her hands together hopefully.

"Consider it done," Puck nods then laughs as Brittany suddenly loops her arms around his neck, pulling him across the table and into a hug, his elbow getting acquainted with her mashed potatoes.

Artie laughs along.

Yep.

Clueless.

**-ooOoo-**

Rachel's still wiping off slushy when the door to the washroom opens.

She looks up and her eyes briefly meet Quinn's before the blonde is looking down to the floor again.

"Heard about what happened," Quinn says, moving slowly into the washroom. "Sorry."

"I don't care," Rachel sniffs, still drying her hair.

"What?"

"I. Don't. Care," she repeats, making sure to put emphasis on every word. "You think I don't know you Quinn but I do. You only want to be my friend where no one can see. I'm sorry but… I'm not going to be your secret lover, Quinn."

Quinn looks appalled, "I…don't think that's what that means."

"Be that as it may," Rachel continues, shrugging slightly, "I'm not about to continue this single-sided, imaginary friendship with you. You either are my friend completely, or you're not; simple as that."

Rachel had expected a lot of things, maybe some yelling or a snarky, sarcastic comment about how they were never friends and like Quinn actually cares what she feels, or maybe even way up there on her optimism scale she expected Quinn to admit how wrong she'd been and explain about how she just couldn't commit social suicide by openly being her friend. Anything on that scale would have been fine.

However, it is safe to say that she did _not_ expect Quinn to suddenly burst out crying.

"Oh my God," she gasps, moving rapidly to the blonde girl. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you cry. It's okay. You can be a bitch to me anytime you'd like."

"No," Quinn sobs out, not fighting Rachel's embrace, "It's not that. I'm just… everything is so messed up right now. There's my now ex-boyfriend who I'm not even sure was cheating on me. There's the drama with Finn and…and…"

"And what?" Rachel prompts, running soothing fingers through the crying girl's hair.

"…I have to quit the Cheerios!" she sobs out at last, breaking down shortly thereafter.

"Wait, what?"

**-ooOoo-**

"This is Jacob Ben Israel, reporting live from the boys' bathroom stall with breaking news. Quinn Fabray, that's right, _the_ Quinn Fabray, has resigned from the Cheerios. Just minutes ago we took this information to the public for their rapid reactions."

**-oo-**

"_Mr. Schuester, did you know that your fascination slash borderline-obsession with 80s pop rock has driven Quinn Fabray to drop out of high school and join a traveling circus dedicated to _Journey_?"_

"_Huh?"_

**-oo-**

"_Tina, with Quinn out of the picture, wouldn't you say the time is right for your emergence to the top of the pyramid?"_

_Tina squints her eyes in confusion, "But, I'm not on the Cheerios," she says, sharing a confused look with Mike who just shrugs._

"_Not yet you aren't. Not yet."_

**-oo-**

"_Brittany, what is your reaction to Quinn quitting?"_

_Brittany leans down into the microphone, still clutching Artie's hand. "I think it's great. Smoking is not cool."_

"_Britt," Artie whispers, tugging her down, "I don't think that's what he meant."_

**-oo-**

"_Coach Sylvester, how do you feel about Quinn Fabray leaving the Cheerios?"_

_Jacob is literally shaking in his loafers when Sue slowly turns around, face red in anger._

"_What?"_

**-ooOoo-**

Quinn's been sitting in here for a while now.

She hasn't dared to look up at Coach but she can feel the woman's eyes on her.

It's like being in a very small fishbowl…on a stove…and someone (probably Coach) keeps turning the temperature up and up and up…

"_Explain_."

Quinn's eyes shoot up and she's surprised to see that Coach doesn't have those ritual knives she's always referring to. "I just can't…do it anymore," is all the blonde girl offers and she's knows it's a weak explanation. Coach'll never go for it.

"I've never used the word can't in my life. It's a combination of two words that should never go together. An oxymoron, like jumbo-shrimp," Coach Sylvester sneers, grabbing her letter opener and clutching it tightly. "You can do better than that, Q. And frankly, I deserve better."

"You wanted us to kill a man," Quinn squeals defensively.

"I wanted no such thing."

"You asked Brittany, Santana, and I to cut Mr. Schue's brake line. What do you think was gonna happen?"

"Minor fender bender at best," Sue dismisses, waving her hand. "Keep him out of my hair for a few months while I figure out how to disappear him permanently."

"He could die, Coach! And for what? Some stupid little confetti cannons," Quinn rages.

"You're so sensitive. _Who knew_?" Sue says, using the letter opener to clean her nails. "But, maybe I can use this to my advantage," Sue starts, a grin slowly forming on her face.

"No way," Quinn says, shaking her head. "I'm done. And so are Brittany and Santana, I'm resigning for them," she adds, standing up to leave.

"You can't do this to me, Q!" Coach yells, slamming her fists onto her desk. "Don't forget! I made you!"

**-ooOoo-**

Brittany slips up behind her when she's not paying attention and it's kind of cute the way Santana jumps when she feels the fingers dancing along her arm.

"That was really nice," Brittany says, smiling at her best friend. "What you did for Rachel earlier."

Santana's cheeks warm and she hides her blush by ducking down and scratching a non-existent itch on the back of her neck. "Yeah, well, we've got a performance coming up and I didn't want a broken nose to be the reason we sound like crap."

"Sure," Brittany says, bumping her elbow against Santana's and the two walk down towards study hall together.

Santana rolls her eyes but smiles nonetheless, the grin growing wider when Brittany's arm hooks around hers. "Um…about Saturday. I know I said that I wasn't going to go," Santana starts, making sure to keep her head straight ahead. "But, if the offer still stands, I really would like to go."

Brittany grins. "Even if Artie's going to be there?"

"Yes, even if Artie's going to be there," Santana grumbles, frowning slightly.

Brittany catches Puck's eye from across the hall and smiles. "The offer still stands, San. It always has," she says, smiling brightly at her before untangling herself and walking into the room.

Santana follows, slightly off-kilter, because she doesn't know what that even means.

Puck takes off, proud to have pulled off his decent guy role for an entire two days.

If he keeps this up, look out Mike.

**-ooOoo-**

This date has turned out to be a lot like their previous outings.

Only now, it's classified as a date and that makes it totally different so there.

"How's your pizza?"

"Cheesy and greasy, just like I like it," Kurt smiles, cutting the slice into tinier pieces.

"Are you sure you're not describing me?" Blaine teases, eating his own pizza whole.

Kurt chokes for a minute, the question catching him off-guard.

"I'm kidding, I know you don't think I'm greasy," he grins, wiggling his eyebrows playfully.

"Will you cut it out?" Kurt says, exasperated. His cheeks are fire red and he cannot believe that Blaine is intentionally putting him through this torture.

"Oh, calm down," Blaine smiles, reaching his hand across to the other boy's and settling on top of it.

Kurt smiles at the contact, his eyes drawn to where they're touching.

"Aww, isn't that cute?"

Azimio's suddenly standing over their table, a large grin plastered on his face. "They're out on a date."

"The perfect couple," Karofsky grits out, standing right next to him.

"Excuse me gentlemen, but do we have a problem?" Blaine asks, looking up to the two jerks.

Karfosky guffaws, bumping his elbow against Azimio's arm. "Look at this. This one's got balls. I guess we know who the real _man_ in the relationship is."

"You want to say that to my face?" Blaine says, standing up so that he's face to face with Karofsky and Dave actually takes a step back, startled.

"Don't be scared man," Azimio says, shoving Dave back forward.

"I'm not," the much larger boy says, getting his bearings back. "I just thought he was going to kiss me for a minute," he sneers.

"Like you wouldn't have liked it," Blaine spits back and just manages to get out of the way of Karofsky's meaty fist when another young man steps in between them.

"Whoa, dude. You almost landed that," Colin says, looking impressed. "Your technique and form is quite commendable but next time, try swinging with your eyes open."

"Who is this clown?" Azimio asks.

"Colin Herrera, guy. Pleased to meet you," Colin says, holding out a hand that the boy slaps away.

Colin looks past Karofsky to Kurt. "You okay, man?"

"Peachy keen until these jugheads showed up."

"Right then," Colin says. "Now, fellas, I don't know if you know this but I'm a black-belt in Shitō-ryū and that means I could actually do some major damage if prompted. And there are quite a few people here in this mall. I'm guessing you two don't want to get beat down in front of the whole town, do ya'?"

Karofsky looks around, seeing all the people staring, waiting to see what's going to happen. And if this Colin guy is for real, and beats them up, they'll never live it down.

Azimio looks to Dave and Dave shakes his head, leaving well enough alone for the second time in one day.

"Buh-bye now. You come on back again some time, you hear?" Colin calls after them, waving stupidly.

Blaine shakes his head because who is this boy and, really, where did he come from?

"Thank you, Colin. For once your brashness comes in handy," Kurt says, readjusting in his seat.

Colin grins and steals a bit of his pizza, snorting at how tiny and bite-sized he'd made it.

"Um, Kurt, who is this?" Blaine asks and Kurt's mouth forms a perfect 'O' of surprise.

"Oh right," he says, slapping his head absently. "This is Mercedes' new friend's friend. Is that confusing? Oh, who cares. His name is Colin."

Colin smiles with a mouthful of pizza, holding out a greasy hand in greeting. "Hi there."

"Hi," Blaine states slowly, taking his seat again.

Colin grabs a nearby chair and drags it over to their table, making himself right at home and just grabbing a full slice of their pizza. "What were those bums messing with you two for anyway?"

Blaine's head turns on a swivel and he and Kurt have this weird silent eye conversation that Colin doesn't even notice.

"Actually, um, Colin. We're on a date," Kurt says, smiling politely.

"Crap," Colin mutters, a piece of pepperoni hanging out of his mouth. "I didn't know," he rushes out, hurriedly standing up.

"Oh, well, you know, how would you?" Kurt says, trying to be polite. "You don't have to go though," he adds on, even though he feels Blaine's eyes on him.

"No way, man," Colin says, putting his jacket back on. "Third wheels always squeak the loudest. Besides, I'm supposed to be working anyways. See ya' around, Kurt. Good luck," he says, patting him hard on the shoulder. "Hope you score. Dude looks like a bottom."


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Notes: **Apparently Glee's not the only thing doing filler episodes. It's contagious. Thanks for reading and reviewing. Especially reviewing. Oh, and special thanks to my BETAs Alex, Erin, and Beth. Awesomeness=You guys.

**Disclaimer: **Don't own. Just borrowing.

****O****

"This stuff smells weird," Finn says, swiping a finger through the creamy, white lotion coating his face.

Kurt slaps his hand away. "Don't touch," the boy snips, going back to pushing the cuticles on Finn's nails back.

"What is this supposed to do anyway?"

"It's a skin tightening masque. You're starting to wear a little around the eyes, but a couple of treatments of this baby and your skin will be smoother than a baby's butt."

"Why would I want my face to feel like a baby butt? That's kinda weird," Finn asks, scrunching up his face.

"You're thinking too much," Kurt informs him, breaking out the nail buffer. "Just relax and let the masque work its magic."

Finn settles further in the chair, but he fidgets every other second or so. So much so that Kurt finally gives us, removing the cucumber slices from the boy's eyes. "What's wrong Finn?"

"Nothing," Finn knee-jerks, slightly thrown off by the white stuff on Kurt's face. When did he put that stuff on?

"Yes there is. Your eyes are doing that weird 'I can't focus on one thing' thing," Kurt grabs his hand and leads him over to the couch, sitting down primly. "Come on," he prompts, patting the sofa cushion. "I'm your brother now. You can tell me things. Let's talk."

Finn sits down stiffly, still not looking at Kurt directly. "I've been thinking…"

"Well, that's always good."

"I think I may still be in love with Quinn," he says suddenly and Kurt almost swallows his tongue.

"Excuse me?"

"I know it's crazy considering all the stuff that went down last year, but, she's the only girl to really 'get' me, you know?"

Kurt looks dumbfounded, but honestly what can he do but nod.

"Yeah," Finn says again, suddenly standing up.

"Where are you going?" Kurt rushes to ask, scrambling to his feet.

Finn smiles ominously. "There's someone I need to talk to," he says, walking out of the room.

Kurt bee-lines straight for his phone, finger already pressing speed-dial number two when Finn's head pokes back in.

"Oh, and Kurt?"

"Hmm?"

"Let's just keep this between us brothers, 'kay?"

***o*O*o***

Mike and Mercedes were sitting at a table, making light conversation and nursing chai lattes.

It hadn't taken them too long to put together their presentation for Glee. After all, Tina and Mercedes were the best of friends and by extension Mike and Mercedes were kind of close so there wasn't a lot they didn't know about one another.

Add to that a nearly identical taste in music – because Mike was the blackest Asian she knew – they had their homework in the bag.

Now though, Mike had refused to leave when Mercedes hinted that she was planning to meet up with Benjamin afterward, hence the waiting game at the coffee house.

"I still don't see why you need to meet him right now," Mercedes finally says, breaking the silence.

"I just want to talk to him," Mike says, eyeing the entrance.

"But, I don't-"

"I just want to talk to him."

"Mike, he's-"

"Rough him up a little bit, maybe."

"What?"

"I just want to talk to him."

In all the chatter, they miss Benjamin's arrival and don't notice him until he's standing directly over their table. "Uh, hi?"

"Hey Ben," Mercedes says, looking up to him and scooting over so the boy can join her but Mike's on his feet in an instant, stepping out and motioning for Benjamin to slide in next to him.

"Hey Cedes," he says, leaning over before he sits down to kiss her on the cheek. "What's going on?"

"This is-" Mercedes starts but Mike interrupts her, again.

"I'm Mike…Chang. I'm Mercedes' brother."

Benjamin's eyebrows rise, rightfully so. "Say what?"

"Brother from another mother," Mike explaines with a shrug. "You only need to know that I consider Mercedes a sister. You know? Family."

"Uh," Benjamin laughs slightly, looking back and forth between Mike and Mercedes with amused eyes. "Okay."

"Yeah, so if you hurt her in any way you'll have me to answer to," Mike goes on to say, his chest sticking out comically.

Mercedes shakes her head slowly, barely suppressing a smile and Benjamin is trying valiantly to not chortle like her really wants. Now, it's probably time to take stock of the situation. Mike isn't a little guy by any means. He's fairly athletic and all that dancing has really strengthened his muscles. But…

Benjamin could probably break him in half if motivated to do so.

So the fact that Mike is legitimately trying to appear threatening is pretty hilarious.

Benjamin is biting hard on his lip and he somehow manages to stave off the humor. "Understood," he says seriously, nodding once at the other boy.

"Damn right it's understood," Mike says, turning back to face forward in his seat, nodding authoritatively before reaching again for his drink.

***o*O*o***

_**I have so many things going on right now I think I'm starting to go crazy.**_

_**That has to be it because Santana's being nice to me all of a sudden and the other day I actually smiled at Rachel Berry.**_

_**Don't ever do that by the way.**_

_**She takes it as a personal invitation to hug you.**_

_**Anyway, my main problem is now I have two ex-boyfriends following me around.**_

_**And, unfortunately, no current boyfriend to shoo them away like Crazy Pete does the squirrels on his lawn.**_

_**Honestly, I don't know if Sam really cheated on me – he seems pretty adamant about not doing it actually – and if I'm honest, I totally believe him.**_

_**I just don't think he's the guy for me and haven't really for quite some time. He's cute and he's sweet but he's…not…**_

_**He's just not…**_

_**Let me put it this way, I find it extraordinarily easy to slow things down when he and I get a little carried away.**_

_**And I know that's not supposed to happen.**_

_**I mean, you're supposed to be into your boyfriend that way. **_

_**Otherwise, he's just some random guy you make-out with.**_

_**Ugh. **_

_**Whatever.**_

_**My other shadow is Finn – that jerk.**_

_**He's been trying to apologize for his "performance" in Glee club but I'd rather punch him in his stomach than hear anything he has to say right now.**_

_**Add to all of this the looks Puck keeps sending my way and I'm caught in some kind of love polygon.**_

_**And I was never really good at geometry so…**_

"Sweetie," Judy Fabray says quietly, pushing open her daughter's bedroom door slightly.

"Oh, hey Mom," Quinn says, sitting up a little straighter at her desk, tapping her pen against her notebook's margins. "What's up?"

"You have a visitor," the woman replies, opening her door wider to reveal an awkward Finn Hudson.

Quinn bites back her scathing remark and smiles politely, not wanting to cause a scene. "Thanks Mom," she manages, swallowing tightly when the woman turns to leave them alone. Once she's gone, Quinn drops the smile. "Go away."

"Hear me out," Finn pleads, stepping further into the room and closing the door so that Mrs. Fabray won't hear them. He knows how Quinn is about that stuff. "Just let me say what I have to say and you can go on hating me if you'd like."

"Don't you think you've said enough," Quinn shoots back, crossing her arms defensively over her chest and Finn looks down to the floor, accepting the blow.

He nods slowly, brining his eyes up to meet hers again. "Fair enough. Look, Quinn…it was wrong for me to say all of that in front of Glee club. I should've just come to you and for that I apologize." The look in his eyes is intense and Quinn looks away for a moment, wiping away a lone tear. "But I won't apologize for what I said," he adds, standing up straighter. "You broke me, Q."

Quinn laughs humorlessly. "You humiliated me."

Finn's eyes flash. "It hurts doesn't it," he says before he can think about and before she can realize it she's coming at him, hands and fists flailing.

"I didn't mean that," he says quietly, easily holding her off.

"Yes you did," she gets out, her voice thick with unshed tears. "But, do you think I wanted to do that? Do you think I wanted to lie to you? To have everybody find out about it before you? To have you not even hear the truth from me?"

"Then why didn't you just tell me the truth?" he asks, really wanting to know. He might have been able to forgive her if she'd just been honest with him.

"Because I didn't want to hurt you."

"Well, that turned out just fine didn't it," Finn says, not angrily and with a dry humor that just falls flat.

Quinn's entire body deflates. She's so sick of this same old argument. Who hurt and who's hurting who.

They can only run in the circles so many times before one of them gets dizzy.

"Why are you even saying this Finn? What good does re-hashing any of this do for us?" she asks him, voice quiet.

Finn blows forth a breath, rocking slightly on his heels. "Mr. Schuester wants us to respect one another, so we can become a better team."

"That's all this is about?" Quinn asks, needing to know. "Glee club?"

Finn smiles a little, figuring she'd be smart enough to catch that. "We used to be friends Quinn. Don't you remember? Before all the birds and the bees?"

"_Hurry up, Q," young Finn Hudson says, ducking around the corner before Puck can see them._

_This was the best thing about summer time: Water Wars._

_It was sort of a tradition they'd all had since they were old enough to speak._

_Every summer when the temp soared high enough that it was hot a night and still cool enough that they wouldn't pass out from heat exhaustion they'd stage these massive water fights with the other kids in the neighborhood._

_It was fun and since they were all still pre-pubescent, there was no boy/girl awkwardness._

_Quinn turns into the alleyway with Finn and they duck into the shadows as Puck and a couple other guys rush right past them, not even noticing._

"_How much ammo do you have?" Quinn asks him, breathing heavily and adjusting the strings on her tankini._

"_I'm down to two water balloons," Finn answers, pulling them out of his shorts pockets. "You?"_

_Quinn grins mischievously and pulls two balloons out of the top of her suit and Finn howls with laughter._

"_Nice," he says, a little too loudly._

"_Brittany," Santana drawls, rounding on the duo. "Look who we have here."_

_Finn and Quinn spin around to find themselves surrounded, all the kids from the rival team standing in front of them, water balloons in each of their hands._

"_Now, Santana, I totally missed you with that water bomb," Finn says, holding his hands up._

"_Yeah," Santana nods, shrugging slightly. "But you got Brits."_

"_And Brittany don't play that," Brittany adds, hoisting her balloon up._

"_Ready," Santana commands, and all hands raise, balloons jiggling mercilessly._

"_Aim," Quinn closes her eyes, preparing for the attack._

"_Fire!" Santana yells just as a laughing Finn launches himself in front of Quinn, taking the brunt of the balloons._

"So…you want to be friends?"

"I'd like to try," Finn says, hunching his shoulders up slightly.

It's such a Finn move that she can't help but smile and he wipes away the last of her tears, a slight chuckle slipping out at the end.

"We can try," she nods.

***o*O*o***

_You are safe in my heart  
And my heart will go on and on_

Rachel slowly lowers her hairbrush and faces her audience.

Speechless as he may be.

"Wow, Rachel, that was…really good, but, I don't see how that relates to either of us," Sam says, looking extremely uncomfortable.

Rachel's face falls a little bit. "Oh, well, no. It's actually only really my song. I've already professionally recorded it. It's going to play at my funeral."

"That's sort of… morbid."

"Honestly, Samuel. It shouldn't be this difficult to locate a song that registers for both of us. Especially within my extensive catalogue," Rachel sighs, falling back onto her bed and sifting through her iPod playlist.

"Actually," Sam sighs, standing up suddenly. "I don't quite feel up to this today. I think I'm gonna go."

"Wait," Rachel starts, gripping his wrist. "I think the problem is we really don't know much about one another. I mean, I know you like football and apparently have some kind of a fascination with Justin Bieber."

"Yeah and you like showtunes and apparently aspire to be the school's librarian," Sam shoots back.

Rachel's eyes narrow, stepping closer to him. "That was insulting."

"Yeah, well so is comparing me to a pre-pubescent lesbian," Sam returns, moving closer to her.

"Is it just me or is it suddenly very hot in here?" Rachel mumbles out, tugging half-heartedly at her shirt collar.

"It's not just you," Sam whispers, suddenly an inappropriate distance away from the girl.

Some force, some invisible force, is closing the distance between them and soon there's no space between Rachel and Sam.

"What…what are you doing?" Rachel whispers, Sam's hands slowly moving up to cup her face.

"I'm not sure," he whispers back, looking into her eyes.

Something passes between them and Sam moves in, their lips meeting briefly before Rachel's bedroom door is knocked on loudly.

Sam steps away, pulling his hands away like they were burned.

Rachel takes in a shaky breath, fiddling with the Star of David charm around her neck. "Come in," she calls, voice quaking.

Quinn steps inside the room, a confused look already on her face. She'd seen Sam's car outside. "Hey," she starts, turning from the blonde boy to Rachel. "Am I interrupting something?"

Rachel looks to Sam, struggling to find words.

"No," Sam assures the blonde, grabbing his jacket. "I was just seeing myself out. I'll call you later Rachel."

Rachel is still fisting her necklace as she watches Sam walk out of her room, not noticing Quinn's eyes on hers.

She smiles weakly. "Are you ready to go?"

***o*O*o***

"What about this?"

Santana looked over at him, debating whether or not to reply to the text she'd just received from Brittany.

"No," she said, tucking the phone back away without replying.

"Why not?" he asked, looking at the item in his hand.

"She's a girl, Puck. A baby girl."

Puck looks at the stuffed turtle in his hands.

What the hell is wrong with Leonardo?

He's like the coolest turtle.

"Well, you pick out something," he gruffs, throwing the toy back into the bin.

Santana rolls her eyes but grabs a duck and shoves it at him. "Here. She'd like this one."

Puck looks at the big fluffy smiling duck and smirks. "Are you sure _you_ don't want to buy this one?"

Santana hits him in the arm and the punch lands a little harder than he expected, deadening his arm and making him drop the duck. "Jesus, Lopez. Been eating your Wheaties?"

"Hurry up and get that thing," she says as he's picking the stuffed toy back up. "Brit's getting impatient."

"Alright. Alright," he says, rolling his eyes. "Can't keep Brittany waiting."

They're almost at the checkout when the most abrasive noise stops them dead in their tracks.

"Noah! Santana! Hi!"

"Oh, dear God no," Santana mumbles.

"What are you two doing here?" Rachel asks, coming up to round in front of the pair, Quinn right behind her.

Wait.

Excuse me.

"Shouldn't _we_ be asking that question?" Santana says, crossing her arms defensively. "Puck and I occasionally hang. You two don't even belong in the same sentence."

"Quinn and I were merely stopping to get refreshments en route to the library," Rachel says, nodding succinctly.

"We're going to work on our Spanish assignment," Quinn adds, staring at the duck still in Puck's arms. "Who's the duck for?"

Puck's eyes widen, his mind temporarily going blank, leaving Santana to come to his rescue…again.

"It's for Brittany."

Puck nods unconvincingly, avoiding Quinn's gaze.

"Cute," she says, smiling politely.

"Isn't Brittany a bit old to still be playing with stuffed animals?" Rachel asks, raising a brow.

"Aren't you a little too old to be shopping at Gap Kids?" Santana asks, nodding at Rachel's jumper. "C'mon, Puck. Let's go before she Jew-guilts you into doing a duet."

Rachel's hands take up residence on her hips and she glares after Santana, jaw slackened. "She has some nerve…"

Quinn rolls her eyes, dragging the girl away. "Let it _go _Rachel."

***o*O*o***

It started out fine and dandy.

The four of them enjoying the rides and, surprisingly, somewhat enjoying one another's company.

Puck laughed heartily when Brittany dragged a reluctant Santana onto the merry-go-round.

And then he stumbled off the tilt-o-whirl, clutching his stomach and breathing deeply.

But now…

Now they were at the carnival games and Puck stands by awkwardly while Santana and Artie unwittingly square-off against one another.

"The aim of the game is to pick a card that's the same as the name of the card that you had when we began," the carnie says, shuffling the deck quicker than an Atlantic City blackjack dealer. "Step on up and try your luck. Win a prize for just a buck."

Artie reaches into his pocket and pulls out a few bills, handing them over without hesitation.

"Dude," Puck whispers, leaning down to be heard. "What are you doing? These things are like, the worse scams ever."

"It actually only boils down to probability and concentration," Artie says, pushing up his glasses. "His hands may be quick but he can't outplay years of statistical analysis."

"I love it when he uses big words," Brittany whispers to Santana, smiling slightly. "Quick," she marvels, shaking her head slightly.

"Whatever bro. Just don't put up your wheelchair because I'm not carrying you home," Puck says, standing back and letting Artie do his thing.

The carnie dealer shows him his card and back into the fold it goes, sifting through the other five cards on the table as he shuffles them back and forth.

"Okay, smartie," the carnie says, smiling smugly. "Pick your card."

Artie stares at the face-down cards, studying them carefully. He slowly raises one finger and lingers over one, nearly landing on it before shifting his finger over, smiling up at the man confidently. "Gimme my prize, bitch."

The carnie frowns, yanking down the oversized foam cowboy hat they were playing for and Brittany leans down so Artie can place it on her head.

Santana rolls her eyes when the blonde kisses him softly before settling into his lap, giggling.

"You could try to be a little less obvious," Puck suddenly whispers in her ear and she jerks her head around to scowl at him.

"What are you talking about?" she growls out, glaring at him.

Puck tilts his head, studying her and he comes to the sudden realization – and somewhat amusing one – that Santana truly has no idea what he's talking about - that the girl is absolutely clueless about what's going on with her and Brittany.

It's at once alarmingly frightening and completely absurd.

How could the girl be so clueless about something so glaringly obvious?

Answer: DENIAL.

Totally not just a river in Egypt.

He's just about to answer her - well, lie actually because there is no way he's going to out Santana just yet, she'd castrate him – when Brittany stops them all where they are standing.

Puck follows her line of vision and he sees it.

The most huge, unattractive, goofy-looking yellow oddity he's ever seen in his life is hanging from some slick guy's prize booth. It's the top-prize for reasons he can't comprehend because who the hell would even _want_ that thing, but looking back to Brittany and her rapidly widening eyes he thinks the carnie guy must be some kind of a genius.

The game is one of those "Test Your Strength" games, you know, the one with the hammer.

And you whack the button as hard as you can and the bell is supposed to ding and blah blah blah…

Well, no one's dinging the bell at all on this game.

Honestly.

Some really buff guy just tried and only got it halfway up.

"I want it," Brittany whispers, reaching out toward the duck.

Artie looks a little nervous. "I don't think I can get that one for you babe," he stutters out, rolling over to the machine. "I've got pretty decent upper body strength but my leverage is going to be terrible."

"Try," Brittany pouts, turning her full gaze in his direction and who wouldn't give it a go after that.

Artie nods slightly and Brittany hops off of his lap excitedly, rushing to stand out of the way as he preps for his turn.

Artie whacks the thing pretty hard on his first attempt, managing to get the meter up higher than the buff guy.

It's not enough for the top prize but it gets Brittany a Buckeye-sweater-wearing moose.

Brittany takes the toy but her eyes are still on the duck and Puck is actually starting to feel bad about it so he shrugs out of his jacket and pays the carnie guy, rubbing his hands together before grabbing the mallet tightly.

"Prepare to be Puckerfied," he tells the growing crowd.

Puck rears back and swings the mallet down hard and…it barely reaches the halfway mark.

"What the hell?" Puck says, looking at the mallet with confusion. The carnie guy takes it away and Puck looks at his guns, perplexed. "Did I not flex right or something?" he asks Santana, face distraught.

Santana shrugs and reaches into her purse, pulling out a five dollar bill. "Here Abrams," she says to Artie, handing him her bag. "Let me show you how it's done."

She grabs the mallet and concentrates on the corner of the button, smacking down on it as hard as her lithe body will allow.

The crowd watches on as the meter climbs rapidly, a loud ding echoing out all around when it maxes out.

Everyone cheers as the carnie pulls down the large duck and hands it to Santana. The blushing girl barely has time to hand it off before Brittany is attached to her body, hugging her as tightly as two people possibly could.

"You're the bestest best friend ever San!" she squeals, nearly toppling Santana with the strength of her affection.

He brunette giggles, actually like Ernie from Sesame Street giggles, and hugs her back, equally enthusiastic. "You're welcome Britt," she whispers into the other girl's ear.

They're oblivious to the crowds, the still-cheering crowd, and Puck whistles heartily. "Take it off!" he yells, barking out a laugh when Santana flips him off.

There's only one person in the crowd not enjoying it though, well two - the carnie guy was pretty pissed about losing the duck – but the other just sits there in his wheelchair, the frown on his face growing by the second.

This could not mean good things.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note: **The absolute longest two weeks of my life are almost over, thankfully. I got my Glee tickets though so there are some bright spots. Actually, and this is going to seem like the dumbest story. Okay, so my fiancée knows I love Glee, right? So, she bought us tickets. Basically, long story short, awesome is she. Problem is, my best friend also knows I like Glee and bought me and her tickets. So now we have four tickets and only three people to go. I thought about selling it but then I thought how awesome would it be to go with, oh I don't know, an actual _fan_ of the show. As I may or may not have stated before, neither my fiancée nor my friend give a shit about Glee and are only going because I'm making them. So anyway, that's the story. I have an extra ticket if anyone's interested. Thanks as always guys for reading and reviewing. Truly makes all of this unnecessary (self-inflicted) stress worth it.

**Disclaimer: **Don't own. Just borrowing.

***o*O*o***

_**Oh, I'm kind of wise.**_

_**One of the many benefits of being seen and not heard is that I can observe everyone and everything without them suspecting anything.**_

_**Like, I can see the way Puck still looks at Quinn as if he just wants her to finally realize that he's not the asshole he pretends to be. That there's something more to him.**_

_**Or, I can see how Santana's lips always quirk up slightly at the corners whenever she first sees Brittany. She's just so obvious, you know?**_

_**And, it should annoy me – hell, I should be pissed – but I know Tina, and knowing her means I know how awful she still feels for dumping Artie.**_

_**I see it every time I catch her staring forlornly after light-up wheelchair wheels.**_

_**Oh, who am I kidding?**_

_**I'm a decent guy or so I've been told, so I can't pretend to not see it anymore.**_

_**Tina is falling out of love with me.**_

_**She doesn't look at me the same way.**_

_**When she smiles at me, it feels like she's forcing it.**_

_**It hurts.**_

_**It hurts more than that one time Brittany and I tried to do simultaneous standing front-flips while slightly inebriated and we collided with one another mid-air.**_

_**Thirty-two stitches.**_

_**But this is a different kind of hurt, like a slow burn and it's only so long before the flames engulf you and you can't stand it any longer. **_

"Michael?"

"Mom?" Mike questions, turning around to see who's calling for him. He's, at the very least, surprised to see Rachel standing at his locker.

"I'm not your mother," the short brunette states, her brow furrowing momentarily. "I've come to ask for your assistance."

"Oh, cool," Mike states, popping out his arm for her to link hers through. "What did you need Rach?"

Rachel smiles at him. "You're going to help me. Just like that."

Mike shrugs. "I don't see why not. We are in Glee together and you're pretty awesome in your own overbearing never knowing when to shut up kind of way."

"But I'm," Rachel looks around conspiratorially. "Not cool," she whispers.

"_Cool_," Mike stresses, looking amused. "…is a state of mind. Everyone has it. You just have to embrace it."

***o*O*o***

Quinn's getting ready for first period when Santana's suddenly in her face.

For a moment she's afraid, but then she realizes Santana's pissed off look is actually concern and she breathes a sigh of relief.

Momentary panic over.

"…the strangest thing just happened when I tried to get into the Cheerios locker room: the panel rejected my retina scan. And then Brittany reminded me that it might've been my contact lenses-"

Brittany shrugs. "The slightest shift can result in the scan getting an inaccurate reading of the cornea, and that miscalculation is all it takes for a negative result."

Quinn openly gapes.

She thinks a duet is a blanket and yet she can recite verbatim the intricacies of a retina scan.

Un-freaking-canny.

"Anyway," Santana continues. "Then we tried Britt's and the same thing happened. What's going on? Is coach trying to rig the ventilation system so that with ingest steroids again?"

"It was hard getting rid of that mustache," Brittany laments, more like Quinn's used to.

Quinn's eyes shift from one end of the hallway to the next, looking for the quickest escape route.

This was not going to be pretty.

"Yeah, about that…" the shorter blonde starts but Santana cuts her off.

"Wait a second. Where's your Cheerios uniform?"

Just then Sue Sylvester marches toward the trio, Becky Jackson and the rest of the squad in tow.

"Sandbags, I guess Fallen Angel didn't tell you," she says, nodding at Quinn. "You're off the squad. That goes for you too, Kudrow," she adds, gesturing to Brittany. "Oh, and I'll expect reimbursement for the dry-cleaning bill by Friday."

"What dry-cleaning bill?" Brittany asks, confused.

Coach snaps her fingers and her front-line of Cheerios step aside, leaving a row of slushy-wielding girls, smirks widening on their faces.

"This one," Sue sneers just as the slushy-shower commences.

***o*O*o***

"Oh my God!" Santana shrieks, wringing red-colored corn syrup out of her hair. "I cann_ot_ believe this is happening."

Quinn looks over from her own mirror. "Calm down. It's not that bad."

Brittany wipes slushy off of her face and then licks her hand. "I taste good."

Santana's jaw tightens. "This has to be your fault," she grumbles, squinting over at Quinn. "You did this."

"Well," Quinn starts, backing up a step or two. "I may have verbally submitted our resignations."

"What?" Santana bellows, on her in a second, Brittany reaching and only getting air trying to stop the girl. "What the hell, Quinn?"

"She tried to get us to kill Mr. Schue," Quinn manages, struggling to get Santana off of her with Brittany's help.

"So?" Santana grunts out, her body being reluctantly pulled away from Quinn's, Brittany's grip tight around her. "So what?"

"Santana," Brittany chastises, her grip tightening on the Latina.

"Are you crazy?" Quinn asks, still breathing heavily on the floor.

"Maybe," Santana grunts out, pulling away from Brittany, but not going after Quinn again. Instead she just walks over to the sink, looking at her reflection in the mirror. "Why'd you do that Quinn?" she asks, her voice breaking. "Cheerios is all we have left."

Quinn shakes her head. "We have Glee club."

"Glee club," Santana bites out. "…is a social death sentence. Coach was crazy. But these uniforms…they kept us safe."

"We hid behind the uniforms," Quinn disagrees. "Maybe now we can figure out who we are instead of always doing what's expected of us because we're Cheerios. We can be ourselves."

Santana's crying, like openly crying, and for once it's not over something ridiculous like a dinner to Breadstix or tanning privileges. "I don't think I know how to be myself," the brunette murmurs, the soft words barely making a sound.

But, as quiet as they are, those words echo around the bathroom, the quiet admittance lingering like a lost soul.

***o*O*o***

"So, that guy? The one we bumped into at the mall?"

Kurt nods, following along with Blaine's conversation even though they were supposed to be learning how to conjugate in Latin.

Oh well.

"What about him?"

"Do you like him?" Blaine asks, his ears turning red.

Kurt chuckles loudly and the chair he was tipping back in almost succumbs to gravity.

Professor Edmonton's eyes cut in his direction.

"Sorry," Kurt says, slightly embarrassed. "I'm sorry. My chair tried to escape. I had to wrangle it."

"Very well then, Mr. Hummel. But could you please refrain from furniture rodeo for the duration of the period?"

Kurt's cheeks redden. "Will do."

"Gratias."

"Salūtātiō!"

Blaine waits until the teacher turns back to the board before picking up the conversation where he left off. "So?"

"Was my blunt laughter not enough of an indicator for you?" Kurt replies, trying to appear coy.

Blaine doesn't follow.

"No, Blaine. I do not like Colin," he says, rolling his eyes. "Why would you even think that?" he asks, severely concerned.

"I don't know. Just…a vibe I got," Blaine says, looking considerably relieved. "I guess."

Blaine is refusing to meet Kurt's gaze and Kurt doesn't know exactly what to attribute it to until-

He gasps. "Are you jealous?"

Blaine splutters helplessly, tearing holes into his notebook with how many times he's re-writing the many conjugations of 'I can'. "_No_," he almost squeaks.

That's very obviously a lie and Kurt knows it too, but he take sit for what it is, smiling coyly and raising one eyebrow in Blaine's direction before turning his attention back to his own notes.

"That's a shame," he confesses, subtly glancing at Blaine. "It would be really cute if you were."

Blaine's pen slips off the page of his notebook.

Kurt – 1.

Blaine – 0.

***o*O*o***

Sam looks mournfully over the text he received last night, not really knowing what to make of it.

_I can't do this with you anymore._

It stings more than he lets on.

Still, now is not the time to dwell on _that_ thing.

Not when he's supposed to be in his next class in the next two minutes.

Not when he's still trying to figure out how to fix things with Quinn.

Not when Rachel's speed-walking up to him with purpose.

Uh-oh.

"Hi Rachel," he says, slapping his locker closed and attempting to move past her. "Bye Rachel."

"Not so fast Mr. Evans," Rachel says, grasping him by the elbow, firmly. It kind of hurts actually. "We need to talk."

"Talk about what?" he asks, shrugging.

She stares at him blankly. "Are you kidding me? We kissed Samuel."

Sam winces and grasps her arm, tugging her into a nearby empty classroom. "Jesus Rachel," he hisses, letting go of her arm. "Inside voice. Use it."

"I'm sorry," she allows, but within seconds her face hardens again. "Your aloof act is really annoying."

"It's not an act. So we…" he lowers his voice. "…kissed. It doesn't mean anything. It was a temporary moment of weakness. A lapse in judgment if you will. And I assure you, it won't happen again."

"Well," Rachel starts, looking up at the boy. "As crushing as that is to my ego, I can safely say that the earth didn't move on my front either. Though, you are a rather good kisser, Samuel," she adds as an afterthought.

"You think?" he asks, grinning slightly.

"Mmm hmm. I think it has something to do with your lips feeling like two very large, very cushiony pillows," she says, reaching up to brush her index finger along his bottom one, almost in a trance. "It's quite refreshing, actually."

Sam's eyes close momentarily and when he squints them open again Rachel's still looking at him that way and he still wants to-

"Oh God," he groans, swooping down and wrapping his arms around her as their lips press together again.

"It's happening again," she mumbles out against his lips, dropping her bag in lieu of grabbing his shoulders.

"Last time," he grunts, lifting her onto a desk. They separate momentarily and she licks her lips as he drops his book bag before burying his fingers in her hair and diving back in. "Last time. I swear."

***o*O*o***

"Why doesn't jell-o keep wiggling when it's inside your tummy?" Brittany asks him, eating another spoonful of the green stuff.

"I'm not sure Britt," Mike answers with a small smile, sighing into his PB & Pixie stick sandwich when she looks away.

Brittany made it for him.

"What's the matter?" she asks, finally focusing on him completely. "You're not eating."

"I'm having a bad day," ha answers lightly.

Brittany nods. "Tina?"

"How'd you know?"

She smiles brightly. "I know stuff, Mike."

"I know you do," he says, sitting up slightly. "Can I ask you something? And keep in mind that it may be a little upsetting to hear."

"Okay."

"Do you think Artie's in love with you?"

Brittany shifts uncomfortably and avoids his gaze. "We're dating."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"And we're having sex," she says, looking up at him.

Mike doesn't even blink at that. "Still not an answer Britt."

Finally, she just shrugs. "I don't know."

"I think you do. I think you know just like I know Tina's not in love with me. She may love me. Love me enough to kiss me and hug me and hold my hand, even. But, I know she's not in love with me."

"Mike, you're awesome. You dance like you have no bones like Gumby plus you always smell like Big Red. Any girl would be lucky to have you," she smiles.

He sort of smiles back and Brittany just looks at him, that vacant expression in her eyes. But then it clears and she speaks again. "I don't think I want him to be in love with me."

Mike wasn't expecting that. "Why?"

"Because it'll hurt all the more when…"

"When what?" he asks, but Brittany's not going to answer and Mike realizes why when he notices Tina standing directly over his shoulder.

"We need to talk."

***o*O*o***

Quinn determined to get this thing over with walks straight up to Finn as he's laughing with some of his football buddies.

"What do you like most about me?"

Finn's ears redden as the other jocks start snickering. "Um, what?"

"Mr. Scheuster's assignment? One positive thing? Don't tell me you've forgotten," she says, rolling her eyes at his blank expression and the guys chortling at the table.

Finn looks sheepish. "Maybe?" he shrugs.

"Well, that's okay. You can come up with one positive thing can't you? Right now?" she asks, and her voice almost sounds like she's pleading.

But Finn is in a freaking awkward predicament. He can say what he wants to say and be laughed at and ridicules for months on end or he could continue his 'aw shucks' thing and escape the situation relatively unscathed. Sure Quinn would be pissed, but she's strong. She can handle it.

"I…" he stutters out purposefully. "I…I don't know what you want me to say, Quinn."

The blonde's eyes harden and she stares at him in disbelief as the rest of the guys howl with laughter. She turns on her heel and he jumps up to go after her, grabbing her wrist to slow her momentum. "Look, Quinn-"

"You want to know what sucks?" she says, keeping her voice even. "In spite of everything we've been through, I never thought that you would be _that _guy. I never thought that you'd purposefully try to hurt me."

Finn lowers his eyes and drops his hand from her wrist. "It's not like that."

"I don't care anymore, Finn," she laughs bitterly, fighting through the emotion that's threatening to make her cry. "I really don't. Yes, I hurt you. And what I did was maybe unforgivable. But what you're doing? This yo-yo game? It's _so _much worse," she manages to get out. The fight kind of goes out of her then, but she won't give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry over him again, leaving without uttering another word.

He doesn't go after her this time.

***o*O*o***

"Alright guys," Mr. Schuester says, rubbing his hands together. "You've had ample time to work on your assignments. Anybody ready to go yet?"

Mike nudges Mercedes' chair with his foot and she looks back at him. "What?" she whispers.

"Let's go," he mumbles out.

"But we haven't even picked a song yet."

Mike looks over at Tina – she's sitting a fair distance away from him – and sets his resolve. "I've got it covered."

Mercedes raises her hand. "Mike and me would like to go Mr. Schue."

"The floor is yours," Will tells them, taking a seat with the class.

"So, Mike and I pretty much knew a lot about each other before this assignment," Mercedes starts, stepping to the center of the room.

"Mercedes can blow like Mariah and Whitney combined," Mike says and Mercedes nudges him.

"And Mike's got crazy style for someone whose dad's idea of dressing down is a suit without the tie," Mercedes grins, popping the boy's shirt collar as Mike shrugs. "But what I like most about him, is that he tells you the truth. Even when you don't really want to hear it."

"And what I like the most about her, is that she's fiercely loyal. Something that I hope remains true, even after this performance," Mike says, cueing the music.

The key is a little lower than the song's typically done in, but Mercedes recognizes the song as soon as it comes on, and she really hopes her ears can take it.

_It's gonna burn for me to say this  
But it's coming from my heart  
It's been a long time coming  
But we done been fell apart  
Really wanna work this out  
But I don't think you're gonna change  
I do but you don't  
Think it's best we go our separate ways_

_Tell me why I should stay in this relationship  
When I'm hurting baby, I ain't happy baby  
Plus there's so many other things I gotta deal with  
I think that you should let it burn_

Mike's actually singing the song very well and Mercedes adjusts her voice to blend with his perfectly. The first chorus passes without so much as a tear from Tina but by the time he gets to the bridge, she full-on bawling.

It's actually a pretty bad scene and even Mike can't help but cry a little bit, his voice breaking so that only Mercedes is heard in the accompaniment.

When he's done he walks over to his girlfriend, breathing heavily and he reaches down to wipe the tears from her eyes. "I love you too much to keep doing this to us," he says quietly, ignoring the stares he feels on them. "I can't be your boyfriend anymore."

Tina shudders noticeably and collapses into his arm, her face buried in his neck.

Mr. Schuester quietly stands, feeling like he stepped in it again. "O…kay. Who's next?"

All of the kids just stare blankly at him.

No way in hell anyone else was going after that.

"Actually, I think Santana and I can go," Artie speaks up after a moment.

Or maybe not.

Santana shoots daggers at the boy as he wheels to the front of the class, but, maybe it'll be good to get this over with. Then she won't have to spend any more awkward time alone with the boy. Or worse, with him _and_ Brittany.

Gross.

"Speaking with Santana was a little enlightening, surprisingly. We have quite a bit in common. We're both good at math and both of us shared a dream when we were younger of joining a boy band."

The class chuckles a bit, still jarred from Mike's performance, and Santana shrugs. "I was nine," she mutters in defense, and Brittany pats her shoulder. "I didn't know any better."

"I guess the thing I like about her the most, though, is that she's absurdly protective of Brittany, my girlfriend," he gushes, winking at the blonde. "Hey baby."

Brittany wriggles her fingers at him and Santana's nose turns up in disgust.

"Anyway, in honor of this temporary allegiance and our shared appreciation for boy bands, I've selected this song for us to sing and since Santana has a freakishly awesome vocal range, I'm sure she can follow," Artie continues, nodding his head in the direction of the band.

The music kicks up and Puck looks amused, as does Mercedes.

Brittany, Quinn, Rachel, and Lauren are in mid-squee and by the time Artie belts out the first note, they've all clamored into the front row of seats, leaning forward like flowers stretching toward the sun.

_You might've been hurt, babe  
That ain't no lie  
You've seen them all come and go, oh...  
I remember you told me  
That it made you believe in  
No man, no cry  
Maybe that's why_

He starts out just singing the song, the lyrics not directed to no one in particular, but as the song progresses, Artie's looks get tossed in Santana's direction.

He's on the chorus when Puck sits up and nudges her chair.

"He coming at you, dude."

"What are you blabbing about Puckerman?"

"He's ragging on you," he hisses into her ear. "He's totally calling you out."

Santana's face scrunches in confusion. "No he's not."

"Uh, yes he is," Puck tells her. "'_You've seen them all come and go'_, '_I'm not like them'_," he quotes, speaking louder this time. "He's totally getting at you for being a sucky gi- friend," he covers up quickly with a wince, hoping she didn't catch it, relieved when she doesn't smack him. "...to Brittany."

"What?" she snaps, annoyed instantly.

Puck grins. "Go get him, Lopez."

Santana's out of her chair by the last line of the chorus, rounding on the class and slipping into HBIC mode before anyone can even blink, her lines being sung directly to Brittany.

_You've got no choice, babe  
But to move on, you know  
There ain't no time to waste  
You're just too blind to see  
But in the end you know it's gonna be me  
You can't deny  
So just tell me why_

The girls help them out on the chorus, Brittany blissfully unaware of the somewhat covert vocal-battle going on between Artie and Santana. But the other three start to sense something when Santana and Artie start going around the room in circles, staring each other down.

Artie takes over at the bridge, spinning his wheelchair to face Brittany.

"_There comes a day, when I'll be the one, you'll see…it's gonna, gonna, gonna, gonna…"_

Santana comes up and behind him and shoves his wheelchair away. "_It's gonna be me!_"

Artie can't control the chair and ends up crashing into a standing cabinet, he and his wheelchair toppling over.

"Oops," Santana mutters, standing frozen in front of the room.

Mr. Schue and Brittany, rush over, pulling a rather dazed Artie back into his chair. "I'm good. I'm okay."

Puck stands, clapping his hands loudly, whistling even louder. "Now _that's_ entertainment."

***o*O*o***

Mercedes is still trying to make sense of the weirdness that was Glee club when she hears someone whistling.

She ignores it at first because A) it's rude and 2) it's probably not for her.

But then the whistling gets louder and closer and she's just going to have to put her foot down and tell whoever the heck it is where to go and how to get there 'Cedes style.

She's prepared to do all of this until she turns around and catches the full-blast of a glowing smile.

"Oh my God," she wails, throwing her arms around the boy. "Benjamin, what are you doing here?"

The boy smiles, scuffing his shoe on the pavement. "Thought you might like a ride home."

"I'd love that," Mercedes grins back, fingering the button on his letterman jacket.

They get caught up staring at each other – _again_ – but their quiet moment is about to be interrupted by a recently-resigned Cheerio full of well-meaning intent.

"Hey Beyonce'," she barks out, grabbing the other girl's arm and tugging. "We need to chat."

Mercedes allows herself to be forcibly dragged away but only because Benjamin's following and still smiling.

She loves his smile.

"Okay, so here's the deal. Your Asian broke Britt's Asian and when Britt's Asian is broken, Brittany is sad and a sad Brittany is not something I allow so…" Santana trails off, looking at the girl. "Are you even listening to me?"

"Were you saying something?" Mercedes says airily, still looking at Benjamin.

Santana narrows her eyes and then follows where the other girl is staring, her face furrowing immediately. "Who the heck are you?"

"I'm Benjamin," he says, holding out a hand. "I'm Mercedes' friend."

Santana looks at his hand and then his face before opting to ignore him. "Yeah, I didn't really care. You can go now."

"Actually," Ben says, shrugging his bulky shoulders. "I can't."

"Look, I'm _flattered_ or whatever. But I'm not interested, okay?"

"Oh, well, that's good because neither am I," Benjamin fires back. "You're very pretty but you're kind of a bitch and that's a major turn-off for me."

Santana's jaw hits the concrete and she just blinks at him, not knowing what to say.

"Besides," Mercedes says, sidling up next to her guy and looping her arm into his. "He's here for me."

Santana manages to pick her jaw off the ground. "Well done, Mercedes. Color me impressed."

"I'll see what I can do about Tina, okay?" Mercedes adds, looking off into the distance and spotting Brittany whispering quietly to a despondent-looking Mike. "I know how much you lo-like Brittany."

Santana's eyes widen at the little stammer and Mercedes tugs Benjamin along before the Latina can say anything.

"It was nice meeting you!"

***o*O*o***

**Songs included in this chapter are:**

_**Burn**_** by Usher and **_**It's Gonne Be Me**_** by Nsync**


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note: **Okay, this is up as a preemptive strike because I think the new episode may put me in some kind of fan-induced coma. So, just in case I don't make it through unharmed, I'm putting this up. Read. Enjoy. Review. Message me. You can do whatever you want with this. Oh, and my friend still has those tickets for whoever is interested. I haven't edited this one as thoroughly as I usually do due to time constraints, so apologies in advance for any and all typos. Thanks for reading.

P.S. Whoever the person is that mentioned doing a Brittany/Santana version of Fifty First Times, I'd get on board but only with you (the requestor) as my BETA because that project is taxing.

**Disclaimer:** Don't own. Just borrowing.

***o*O*o***

It's kind of weird for her to be at Puck's house alone.

And it's even weirder to be at Puck's house alone in the daytime.

Usually, she's only here at night, and there are a ton of people drunkenly swaying to some club hit and Santana's always there too, smothering her with sweet lady kisses.

Brittany sighs.

Those were the days.

Now, though, she's in some weird twilight zone where Puck doesn't throw parties and Santana doesn't drink as much, and there are no sweet lady kisses.

No lady kisses at all, really.

It makes her sad and she'd even cry if there weren't Artie kisses to make up for it. He doesn't kiss nearly as good as Santana though.

What's taking Puck so long to answer the door. When she's forced to sit still for any undetermined amount of time, her mind starts to wander and it wanders right over to Santana-ville.

And that used to be a very fun place with rainbows and ducks and unicorns, but now it's mostly just sad because she and her best friend aren't as close as they used to be.

Okay, seriously, Puck needs to answer this door _now_.

She kicks the panel hard and within moments Puck is standing there, eyes wide in panic at first but then they just muddle up in confusion. "What the hell, Brittany?"

"Why'd you take so long to answer your door?"

Puck's forehead frown deepened. "Did you ring the doorbell?"

The blonde tilted her head. "You have a doorbell?"

Puck rolls his eyes. "Come on," he says, grabbing her by the elbow and tugging her inside. "We can't take forever on this, Britt. I've got an appointment I have to make."

Brittany follows Puck through the living room and to the den and then she freezes in the doorway.

Puck looks over at her, adjusting the straps on his shoulders. "What?"

"Puck…" Brittany starts, still keeping her distance. "…you have a baby," she finishes, gesturing to the baby sitting in the carrier attached to his chest. "Are we in _The Hangover_?"

Puck chuckles because you just _have_ to when Brittany says things like that. "No," he says, walking over to her, the little girl strapped to him wrapping a chubby fist around his index finger. "Remember how Quinn had a baby last year? Our baby?"

Brittany nods slowly.

"This is her," he says, nodding at the girl.

"You kept her?" the blonde girl gasps.

"No, Britt. Ms. Corcoran adopted her but we get to hang out from time to time," Puck explains, now standing right next to Brittany.

"That's nice of her," Brittany says, smiling at the baby who, in turn, gurgles up at her. "I know how much you wanted to jeep her."

Puck's throat unwittingly closes up. He'd never shared that with anyone except Santana, and Santana was sworn to secrecy so…

"That's who you sang that song about, right?" Brittany asks, reaching out her finger and tracing the little baby's nose.

Puck nods, swallowing thickly.

"Hmm," Brittany hums, brushing the baby's cheeks. "She looks like you. Can I hold her?"

Puck should have some reservations about it – Brittany once dropped their classroom hamster on its head because she thought it was a miniature cat and would land on its feet – but he doesn't, handing Beth over without a minute's hesitation.

"She's adorable," Brittany squeals, holding the baby close. She dusts a kiss into her cheek. "Her name's Beth, right?" Brittany asks, moving over to the sofa with the baby. "I always liked that name. San doesn't though. We're going to name our baby-"

Puck watches Brittany go quiet and moves to sit next to her.

"What song did you want to sing?" Brittany asks, failing at subtly changing the subject.

Puck smiles, but it's a sad one this time. "What are you guys going to name your baby?"

"We were going to name _him_," Brittany smiles a little, squeezing Beth a little tighter. "It was gonna be a boy because Santana likes boys, but we were going to name him Scamp, you know, like in _Lady and the Tramp_. We watched that movie a thousand times when we were little," Brittany goes on to say, her smile widening, but then it falters a little. "That's what we _were_ gonna name him, anyway."

"Why can't you name him that anymore?" Puck asks softly, letting Beth take his finger again.

The baby laughs and Brittany smiles down at her, drool-covered chin and all. "Because Santana doesn't love me like that anymore."

Puck's heart breaks.

It literally does and he thinks two things in that moment.

One: Santana needs to get her stuff together a.s.a.p.

And two: when the heck did the Tin Man get a heart?

Seriously, he's about to start bawling over here.

Puck clears his throat. "I don't think that's true, Britt. In fact, I think I can prove it. But I'm going to need your help."

***o*O*o***

Quinn has always considered herself a rather patient person.

She'd have to be, after all, to keep denying her boyfriends sex.

We can ignore the sleeping with the first loser who gets her drunk and calls her pretty thing.

Her point, she's as patient as the guy who waited all those years for Lance Bass to come out.

But if Rachel freaking Berry doesn't figure out how to say 'card' in Spanish she is going to scream.

Rachel groans, burying her face in a pillow. "My Spanish is really sucky."

Quinn rolls her eyes at the understatement, but still manages to keep it civil. "Truthfully, it kind of is."

Rachel groans again and pushes herself into a seated position on her bed. "I know," she says, pouting adorably and crossing her arms. "I can't roll my 'r'. Maybe it's because I'm Jewish."

Quinn arches an eyebrow. "Have you been hanging out with Puck?"

"No," Rachel dismisses archly. "Why would you ask that?"

"That just sounds like something he would say is all," Quinn answers with alight smile before turning back to her notes. "Anyway, I think your main problem is your enunciation-"

"How have things been going with Finn?"

Quinn looks up at the other girl through her bangs, head still bowed slightly. "Fine."

_Finn's hand trail down her arm and she catches his hand when it finally reaches hers, pulling away from his lips with a soft smack._

"_I still don't like you very much," she whispers, her eyes on his._

"_Ditto," he whispers back, tangling their fingers together. _

_Quinn nods slowly, her forehead brushing against his. "So long as we have an understanding," she says quietly, leaning back down, kissing him with renewed fervor._

_Finn just moans._

"Just fine," Quinn continues, straightening up slightly. "Why do you ask?"

Rachel smiles. "I'm just being polite Quinn. In spite of our past romantic entanglements with Finn, we should be able to talk about him without it being weird, right?"

Uh, no?

"Right," Quinn agrees, nodding tightly. "Of course. Now that you've mentioned it, how is your project with Sam coming along?"

Rachel keeps the smile on as she stares at a spot right above Quinn's head. "It's progressing rather nicely, actually."

_Rachel rolls them back over, her fingers still fisting the boy's shirt collar._

"_It's happening again," she whispers against his lips._

"_I know," Sam breathes out shakily, trying to get his bearings back. "I don't know what it is-"_

"_Do you wear Axe cologne?"_

_Sam looks understandably confused. "Yeah."_

"_Well there you have it. The carefully and strategically placed advertising has brainwashed me into thinking that anyone wearing Axe cologne is irresistibly attractive, thus resulting in my overwhelming inability to refrain from kissing you."_

_Sam thinks about that for a minute. "So, are you telling me you're making out with me because the TV told you to?"_

_Rachel blinks. "Yes."_

_Sam just shrugs, leaning back in. "That'll work." _

'Quite nicely, indeed,' Rachel thinks to herself, staring off into the distance dreamily.

"Rachel," Quinn says, trying to get the girl's attention by snapping her fingers in front of her face. "Rachel."

Rachel snaps to it. "What? Oh yeah, oh right. Card. Tar-get-ah? Did I get it?"

Quinn groans loudly.

***o*O*o***

Mike's still got a towel over his head, but he's still listening.

"I don't know, man. Can't we just _tell_ the girl?" he asks, looking over at Puck.

Puck closes his locker, his own towel slung low around his waist. "That is exactly what we _can't_ do. I know Santana better than anyone, anyone who isn't Brittany, and she will flip her Latina lid if we confront her with this. She has to come to the conclusion on her own."

"But, isn't this meddling kind of like confronting her with it,"

"Semantics," Puck says, rolling his eyes. He takes a towel and runs it under his armpits before smelling it. "Dude, are you in or out?"

Mike looks hesitant…and a little grossed out.

"…I don't know."

"Look, aren't you Brittany's friend?"

"You know I am," Mike answers, annoyed that he'd even ask.

"Well, you didn't see Britt at my house the other day. She looked heartbroken man and it's all because of Lopez. It was sad. And, even though their relationship will be nothing short of entertaining for me," Puck rubs his hands together, staring up dreamingly at the ceiling momentarily, "I'm mostly doing it because a sad Brittany is as torturous as someone lighting fire to a box of puppies. And I'm no Cruella Deville."

Mike gasps. "You _have_ been hanging out with Brittany," he accuses.

"Glee project, remember," Puck says, with a 'duh' face.

"I'm in," Mike says after a while, shaking on it. "But what about Artie?"

Puck shrugs. "I feel bad for wheelchair kid but if there's one thing last year taught me it's that you shouldn't mess with fate. Besides, I'm sure Tina'll be there to pick up the pieces."

Mike's face darkens. "Too soon, Puck."

"Sorry, bro. I keep forgetting how to be a good guy all the time. Look at it this way, at least you guys' outfits won't clash horribly when you sit together anymore," Puck offers, trying to be the good guy.

"Yeah, yeah," Mike mutters, walking towards the showers.

"What?" Puck asks, calling after him. "What did I say?"

***o*O*o***

"Well if it isn't the Queen himself," Karofsky says, catching Finn alone in the boys' bathroom.

Finn rolls his eyes in the mirror, not wanting to deal with this at all. "What do you want Karofsky?"

To Finn's surprise, Karofsky's sneer falls away and he looks around distractedly before stepping a little closer. "How's um…how's your brother?"

"Kurt?" Finn asks, incredulous. "You're asking about Kurt?"

"Keep your voice down," Karofsky hisses, eyes darting around nervously.

"I…I just don't get why _you_ would be asking about Kurt. I mean, you do realize that you're the reason he transferred."

Karofsky has the decency to look troubled. "I know and, well, I'm sorry about that. I'm just…I'm not good about the whole gay thing. And when Kurt made a pass at me-"

Finn's brow furrows. "Kurt made a pass at you?"

"What? Is there an echo in here? That's what I said, ain't it," Karofsky bellows, his face hardening again.

"You just don't really seem like his type," Finn mumbles out, wondering what on earth he, Blaine, and Karofsky had in common.

Then he hoped that he _didn't _have anything in common with them.

He was so wrapped up in his contemplation that he didn't realize the change in Karofsky's demeanor, at least not until the guy had him by the collar and slammed up against the bathroom wall.

"What's _that_ supposed to mean? I'm not good enough for him."

"What the hell is your problem Karofsky?" Finn wails, kicking furiously as the larger guy lifts him higher. "Let me go."

"Yo' Dave," Azimio asks, having just entered the bathroom. "You need some help?"

"Yeah, it's time to put potato head in his place," Karofsky grunts out, motioning for Azimio to come grab on too.

"No, guys, not the hair!" Finn yells, feeling himself getting turned upside down. "Anything but the hair!"

***o*O*o***

"I actually thought she could've been the one, you know?" Mike says, swishing the plastic spoon around in his applesauce. "I really cared about her."

Santana rolls her eyes but remains quiet because Brittany shoots her a warning look. "I know you did," the blonde soothes, reaching over to pat his shoulder companionably and leaning her head on his other one.

"I don't see what the big deal is," Santana finally says, unable to hold it in any longer. "This is high school. No one meets the person they're gonna spend the rest of their life with in high school. That's stupid."

"Your parents did," Brittany refutes with a pout.

"Yeah, and look how well that turned out," Santana mumbles, pulling out a package of Teddy Grahams and tossing them to Brittany, trying to ignore the way the other girl's eyes light up. "What I'm saying is that Mike shouldn't get his panties in a bunch because some chick doesn't dig his awesome."

Brittany's nose scrunches up. "You wear panties?"

Mike ignores that. "You think I'm awesome?" Mike asks, his eyebrows displaying his shock.

Santana looks away for a moment before sitting back, seemingly looking bored. She shrugs. "You're not a total bore like the rest of these clowns, plus you're kind of an individual – marching to the beat of your own drummer and stuff. That's kinda cool."

"Thanks," Mike says and his whole face lights up. He'd always kind of thought Santana hated him.

Well, he thought Santana hated everyone.

Except Brittany.

Brittany is the only exception.

Speaking of the blonde, she gasps suddenly, after having finally gotten the bag of cookies open. "I just had a great idea."

Mike grins and Santana smirks because she can't just outright swoon in the middle of the lunchroom, but she's excited because Brittany's ideas – while few and far between – are always outrageously entertaining.

"I think that you," she points at Santana and the brunette's lips twitch upward, "and you," she points at Mike and he smiles wider, "should go on a date."

Smiles are gone.

"What?" Mike asks, his face broadcasting his confusion.

Santana just looks lost.

"Oh my God, you guys, it would be so cool," Brittany gushes, grabbing both of their hands. "Mike, Santana's hot and San, you just said you like Mike."

"Britt," Santana hisses, yanking her hand away. "Are you crazy? I'm not going out with Mike."

"Why not?" Brittany pouts, looking at the other girl. "You're not dating anybody."

"I know."

"And you just said you like Mike."

"I _know_."

"Well, then, what's the problem?"

Santana shoots her eyes over to Mike. "A little help here guy."

"Look, Britt," Mike starts, looking his friend in the eye, "While it's true that Santana is hot-"

"Very hot," Brittany amends, winking at the girl who uncharacteristically blushes.

"Very hot," Mike continues, failing at trying to hide his smile. "And I think that she really does like me, I just don't think that she likes me like that. I'm not her type."

"But San, loves Chinese food don't you Santana?" she says, turning to the brunette. "It's actually kind of gross. I mean, I can understand cold Italian and Mexican, but cold Chinese? No offense Mike, but, that's just nasty."

Mike just raises one eyebrow. All this time and these little tangents still throw him off. "O…kay. I guess what I'm saying is, I don't think that _we'll_ work…that way. Do you understand?"

Brittany thinks about this. "But you don't know that you won't work, right?" is what she comes back with.

Mike looks over to Santana who's unwittingly smiling stupidly at the blonde.

Oh, he knows it all right.

"Britt-"

"No," the blonde starts, shaking her head. "No more saying no. Artie and I will double with you guys if you're nervous about it or something, but you two are going on a date tonight. Come on, you guys, what's the worst that can happen?"

Mike forces a smile on his face even as the image of a screaming Artie rolling off a cliff flashes across his mind.

He gulps.

"You're right, Brittany. We'll give it a shot," he says, smiling widely and she pulls him into a hug before scurrying over and doing the same thing to Santana, the brunette still staring at him incredulously.

"Sorry," he mouths with a shrug, giving a momentary thought as to what he has just gotten himself into.

***o*O*o***

_**I know we're not your ideal high-school couple.**_

_**Well, she may be. She is the hot, blonde cheerleader – former cheerleader.**_

_**But me?**_

_**I'm on the bottom rung of the high-school social ladder. **_

_**Actually, not even, I'm the ground beneath the ladder.**_

_**Yeah, that's me, Artie Abrams.**_

_**But, I don't feel like that when I'm with Brittany.**_

_**She makes me feel super-smart.**_

_**Like when I explained to her the Keebler elves did not, in fact, live in a tree and make cookies, thereby making their cookies acceptable again to her.**_

_**She thought food byproduct from a tree was unsanitary.**_

_**And she makes me feel attractive.**_

_**Like when she pulls me in by my suspenders, that smoky look in her eyes, and tells me she's gonna kiss me until my legs turn to noodles.**_

_**I don't have the heart to tell her the truth about **_**that**_** one.**_

_**But lastly, she makes me feel loved.**_

_**Like when she stood up to Karofsky for wheeling me into a girl's bathroom when Lauren was…around.**_

_**She called him a cock-eyed Koala bear and Karofsky just laughed but it's the thought that counts.**_

_**But…as awesome as Brittany makes me feel and as awesome as we are together, there's still one glaringly obvious problem:**_

_**Santana Lopez.**_

_**Now, now, don't go getting snippy with me.**_

_**I get that they're best friends.**_

_**I get that Brittany loves her.**_

_**I even get that they used to be more than friends until Santana basically tossed Brittany aside.**_

_**I'm…cool with it.**_

_**What I'm not cool with, however, is Santana's dirty looks aimed in my direction, or her constantly berating me, or her "accidentally" ramming me into things.**_

_**I don't get why she hates me so.**_

_**I've been nothing short of the perfect boyfriend to Brittany (if you omit the "magic comb" business) and Brittany is totally happy now, even more so than she was before, so if anything, Santana should be elated.**_

_**She ain't though.**_

_**And it's starting to piss me off.**_

"Why are you frowning?"

Artie's frown loosens up and he turns his gaze away from a sullen Santana and to the person who'd asked him the question.

"Hi Tina. I'm surprised to see you here."

Tina looks confused. "But we've had this class together all year."

Artie smiles oddly and fidgets with his glasses. "I know. I was just trying to avoid answering your question with a quirky response. Brittany taught me that."

"Oh," Tina says, nervously tapping her pen on the corner of her desk. "That's nice."

Artie notices the other girl's demeanor and is about to ask about her and Mike when Tina's head shoots up and her eyes are suddenly on his.

"Look, Artie, there's something I have to say and I'm just going to come out and say it, okay?"

"Okay," Artie says, haltingly.

"I'm sorry for how things ended with us. It was wrong of me to just up and leave our amazing relationship in the dust as soon as I saw my first set of abs."

"In your defense it was an awesome set of abs," Artie interrupts but Tina, undeterred keeps going.

"It still wasn't right, though. And I'm sorry."

"No it wasn't right," Artie agrees, keeping his face serious. Tina's eyes fall to her own desk. "You really hurt me Tina. That being said, though, I appreciate you coming to me now. It means a lot."

Tina smiles over at him. "Thanks Artie."

"No problem girl," he grins, holding out his arms. "Wanna hug it out?"

Tina grins wider before reaching over to hug the guy, holding on a little tighter and a little longer than necessary.

Santana notices.

***o*O*o***

"I'm almost afraid to ask," Mr. Schuester says, standing in front of the piano. "But, would anyone like to give their presentation today?"

Puck's hand shoots up before Brittany's.

"I'll go," Puck says happily, standing quickly and tugging Brittany along for the ride.

"Well, Brittany's a kick-ass dancer, we all know that," Puck starts, grabbing a guitar.

"It's true," Brittany says, shrugging aloofly. She sits down in the stool in front of the class.

"But, she's also kick-ass at…well, I'll let her show you," Puck says, draping the guitar strap around Brittany's neck and moving her hands into position. "Now, remember," he whispers, grinning down at her. "Just like we practiced."

"Got it," Brittany whispers back, rotating her shoulders.

Puck turns back to the class with a grin, his eyes finding Santana's straight away. "Listen," he mouths, and she scrunches up her eyebrows.

What a grouch.

They should name their future baby Oscar.

_This is the story of a girl  
Who cried a river and drowned the whole world  
And while she looked so sad in photographs  
I absolutely love her  
When she smiles_Brittany, completely coached, stands up and keeps playing, the choir room dancing around as she plays and Puck sings and everyone is laughing and smiling like the true music addicts they all are and Santana, the Santana Lopez herself, is smiling too. Giggling, even and Puck almost pinches himself because he knows he hasn't heard her giggle since they were five.

He touches Brittany on the shoulder and she takes over at the last chorus, focusing on the strings of the guitar as she sings out the last couple stanzas. She's standing right in front of Santana, and while Puck didn't exactly script it that way, it couldn't have been manufactured more perfectly.

_This is the story of a girl  
Whose pretty face she hid from the world  
And while she looks so sad in photographs  
I absolutely love her When she smiles  
When she smiles!_

"Whoo!" Puck hoots when they're done, high-fiving all the guys – even Sam – and bowing dramatically.

Brittany, on the other hand, is stuck.

She's caught in a staring contest with Santana and if Puck's not mistaken they're about to get indecent.

The moment's broken however when Mr. Schue claps the both of them on the shoulder, smiling like a proud father. "That was great, you two. Very entertaining."

Brittany frowns at the interruption but it's short-lived as Santana reaches up and tangles their fingers together briefly, a small smile on her face.

"But Brittany," Mr. Schue continues, helping to get the room back in order. There were a lot of chairs moved around. But it was a small price to pay for the drama-free Glee rehearsal they just had. "You didn't tell us what you liked most about Puck."

"Oh," Brittany shrugs, moving to put the guitar away. "That's easy. He's a great dad."

Spoke too soon.

***o*O*o***

The things she lets Brittany talk her into.

Like, when they were eight and thought that Leprechauns really existed – well, Brittany still kinda does – they spent an entire afternoon following the trail of this rainbow and got lost and ended up spending the night in the forest preserve.

Or, when they were thirteen and she'd fallen off the tire swing and got that nasty cut over her eye, Brittany insisted that she had a big enough bandage for it, so they didn't go to her parents and instead, Santana spent the rest of the day running around with a sanitary napkin taped to her head.

The point is, there's a little voice inside Santana that'll tell her not to do things and then there's a voice outside, a voice attached to the bluest eyes and a dazzling smile and Santana's inner voice doesn't stand a chance.

"Are you sure you want to go through with this?" Mike asks her, standing next to her in line.

They're at the movies, which, ugh, the last thing she wants to do is sit in a dark room full of strangers and ignore two of the only three people she knows, because she just knows that Artie and Brittany are gonna make-out the entire time.

And the movie's going to suck because Brittany doesn't like violence and Mike doesn't want to see a romance and Artie can't stand (no pun) stupid comedies, so now they have to watch something intellectual and boring and when Brittany's bored she either starts talking or kissing and since you can't talk in the theatre…

Crap.

"It's just a stupid movie, Mike. And I'm only here with your because Brittany's making me. Don't get too excited," she snaps at him, feeling a little bad for doing so.

It's not his fault her best friend has horrible taste in men.

"Trust me, I know _you're_ not interested," Mike says, stuffing his hands into his pockets and plowing along in the line, leaving Santana behind.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asks, catching back up to him.

Artie hands them their tickets and they split up for a minute to get refreshments.

"I just know you're not into me," he shrugs, peering at the overhead menu. "Do you want anything?"

"No," Santana answers, shaking her head. "Wait, how do you know I'm not interested, though? Am I giving off vibes or something?"

"Can I ask you a question?" Mike asks, suddenly rounding on the girl.

"Can you answer mine?"

"Do you think I have a chance with Brittany?"

Santana chokes on the gum she was chewing and Mike has to clap her between the shoulder blades a few times, her watery eyes thankfully concealing his smile for the moment. Because her reaction? Priceless.

"I know. It's come as sort of a shock to me too, you know? We've always been friends only. But lately," he trails off, shaking his head slightly. He directs Santana's attention over to where Brittany is standing next to Artie, laughing unabashedly at something the boy has just said. "Just look at her. I mean, who wouldn't want to get with her?"

Santana stares at her best friend, her face a cross between longing and pure pain.

"I don't want to step on Artie's toes though," Mike says, bringing her back to him. "I just want her to know that I'm here. Not waiting. Just here, you know?"

Santana nods slightly, still staring at Brittany.

The blonde looks over and catches her eye and they share a smile before Brittany turns back away, her ears reddening a little.

Mike watches Santana more than he watches Brittany and he can see the cogs turning. "Anyway, we should probably get in there or else we're gonna end up with crappy seats."

"Yeah," Santana nods, following him without really paying attention. "Yeah, we should."

***o*O*o***

Songs included in this chapter are:

_**Absolutely (The Story of a Girl)**_** by Nine Days**


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note: **So, what's with the hiatus? Did a gay beaver come out and see his shadow or something? Meaning four weeks of no Glee (read: Brittana). Me no likey. Anyway, here's an update. Oh, and I'm going to go ahead and write the _Fifty First Times: Brittana Style_ thing because I'm a masochist or something. I only recently figured that out when I went to watch "Sexy" for the thousandth time. Any ideas on which scenarios/scenes you guys would like to see? I'm taking suggestions (although I already have fifty picked out). There may be some repeats because Vamp/Slayer Brittana has to be equally if not more hot than Vamp/Slayer Spashley. We shall see. Thanks for reading and reviewing guys. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **Don't own. Just borrowing.

***o*O*o***

_**It's been a while since we've done this.**_

_**I'd almost forgotten how good it could be.**_

_**Sometimes I really wonder if I made a mistake leaving him for Mike.**_

_**He's actually really sweet to Brittany.**_

_**And it's a definite plus getting to be serenaded every once in a while.**_

_**But then I remember how crappy he made me feel about my clothes or my "stutter" and I think Artie Abrams is not exactly perfect boyfriend material.**_

_**Still, he was my first love and you never forget your first.**_

_**Too bad he's with Brittany.**_

Artie puts down the guitar and smiles widely at Tina.

_**Or is it?**_

"What do you think?" Tina asks shyly, pushing her hair away from her face.

They're in the music room, working on a solo that Tina wants to do. It's a _lot_ like old times and they both fall into their old roles easily.

Almost too easily.

"It sounds awesome, Tina. Then again, I always knew you were talented," the boy says, pushing up his glasses.

Tina wanders over to the piano, flopping down onto the bench with a huff. "I'm gonna ask Mr. Schue to let me sing it at practice." She sighs heavily. "It might be kind of weird though, with Mike, you know?"

Artie rolls over slowly, his lips pursed together. "How have you been doing?" he asks, rolling to a stop beside her. "Since the break-up, I mean?"

"We haven't exactly spoken or anything because it's…awkward. But, we're not openly glaring at one another in the hallways so I'd say it's going well," Tina jokes, plunking absently on the piano keys. "It's just sucks is all."

"Preach," Artie says, tapping on the keys as well. "Being dumped blows," he adds, although he gives her a little smile at the end to let her know all is forgiven.

"I've missed this," Tina says suddenly, bumping his shoulder with hers. "Hanging out with you." She smiles, turning to face him. "Talking to you," she whispers, the smile fading somewhat. "Kissing…you."

Tina leans in hesitantly and Artie actually meets her halfway before pulling back just as quickly. "Whoa. What was that?"

Tina scoots away like he's on fire. "I know, right," she says with a slight, forced, smile.

"There's no way that can happen again," Artie starts to squeak, shaking his head. "I mean, I'm with Brittany and you're…well, you're with no one but you're fresh out of your relationship with Mike and vulnerable and-"

"Artie-"

"Maybe a little depressed. I don't know but you're wearing an awful lot of black these days-"

"ARTIE-"

"Then again, it might just be your style? I'm not entirely sure. And I'm flattered. I really am-"

"ARTIE!" Tina yells, finally silencing the boy. "Stop rambling. It's just a kiss. A mistake. One that'll never happen again, okay?"

Artie nods emphatically.

"And it's just between us?" Tina asks, raising an eyebrow.

Artie nods again, drawing an imaginary zipper across his lips closed.

"Good," Tina says with a smile. "Then no one ever has to know."

***o*O*o***

"Were you _ever_ planning on telling _me_?"

Puck groans, slamming his locker closed. "It's too early for your nasal grunts Fabray."

"I don't understand why the entire school seemed to know about your extra-curricular activities with Ms. Corcoran and I'm left completely out of the loop."

"One: you're exaggerating. Like, three people knew at best. Two: extracurriculars typically don't involve nursery rhymes and pacifiers unless you have some kind of warped sexual inclinations I _don't_ want to know about. And three: it's not like you would've cared anyway," Puck ticks the reasons off as he lists them, keeping his voice low but not quiet.

"Are you kidding me?" Quinn mutters, smacking his arm. "Of course I care. She's my daughter- I mean."

Puck's eyes widen at the admission. "What did you just say?" he asks her but Quinn is already shaking her head.

"I didn't mean to say that. Just…don't say I don't care because I do. I'd seriously question my humanity if I didn't."

"Fine," Puck relents, still annoyed by the way she approached him. "I'm sorry, okay? I maybe should have told you I was going to see her. But, honestly Quinn, I really didn't think you were interested. I mean, after we signed her papers at the hospital you barely wanted to look at her."

"Because I was giving my baby away. A life that grew inside me for nine months, Puck. It's not the easiest thing in the world to do," Quinn tells him, keeping her voice quiet. It was mostly to keep the conversation private, but also because there was a lump growing in her throat. "I couldn't watch them take my baby away," she whispers, a rogue tear escaping its perch on her eyelid.

Puck risks brushing it away with a thumb, but she slaps his hand away when it lingers too long.

Puck rolls his eyes while the blonde composes herself, adjusting her bag on her shoulder while looking up at him.

"Can you tell me what she's like?"

Puck can't help smiling and gestures his head to the side when the bell rings, silently offering to walk her to class.

"Her diapers are kinda toxic but…when she smiles Quinn…" he trails off, beaming into the distance.

Quinn smiles up at him, walking quietly beside him. "Yeah?"

Puck nods. "Yeah."

***o*O*o***

"I know you're not much of a gossip but you're going to need to hold on to your lapels for this one," Kurt says, rushing up to Blaine in the hallway.

Blaine grabs his jacket. "My lapels are secured. Go."

"Noah Puckerman has been secretly visiting and spending time with his daughter Beth," Kurt rushes the words out in one breath, exhaling deeply after. "Ooh, I'm dizzy. I had to hold onto that information for a full ten seconds."

"I'm sure I'd be shocked if I knew who either of those people were," Blaine tells him, face amused.

"Oh, right. Yes. Well, Puck is the guy with the mohawk. And last year he and Quinn – the girl who sang the duet in the last competition – well, they had a baby together and gave it up for adoption. But Puck has been sneaking off to play proud Papa. It's all so _Days of Our Lives_."

"You're enjoying this," Blain laughs, even more so when he takes in Kurt's flushed cheeks.

"It's quite the little scandal in our group at the moment. And if you knew Puck, or even spoke to him for more than two minutes, you would understand why."

"Well, I think it's pretty admirable what he's doing," Blaine tells Kurt, starting them off to class. "I don't know many young men who would be willing to be so involved."

"The most admirable thing Puck has ever done is wear deodorant," Kurt deadpans, delighting when Blaine snort laughs.

"He must be doing an okay job, though. To be able to continue seeing her again. I mean, he can't be an awful influence or anything," Blaine insists, subconsciously tugging his backpack strap closer to his chest. "I don't think I'd be a good father."

"Don't be ridiculous Blaine," Kurt says, still joking. "It'd be a sin not to pass on that bone structure and hair. Plus, your fashion sense is only second to a certain young divo with a slightly obsessive compulsion for facial care."

Blaine smiles a little, but he's serious about this. "My dad was horrible to me for being gay, Kurt. And, inevitably, you are what you know, right? I'm not sure I know how to be a good father," he says, his eyes downcast. "It's one of the reasons why I don't want kids."

"Oh," Kurt says, clutching his bag a little tighter. "Yeah, no, me either," he mutter out. "Who wants kids?"

***o*O*o***

"But, Kurt, you _do_ want kids," Mercedes tells the boy, like it's news to him.

"I know that Mercedes, but we've hardly even gone a few dates yet. I can't go scaring him off now," Kurt says, holding the door open for her. "I just wanted him to know that we share a common interest."

Mercedes screws her face up. "But, you don't though."

"Opposites attract, 'Cedes."

"Yeah, polar opposites," Mercedes relents. "But you can't tell me a card-carrying member of the KKK would get along fine with Snoop Dogg, you just can't."

Kurt's eyes widen. "Who on earth have you been hanging out with?"

"Oh," Mercedes smiles. "Benjamin's been doing this paper on the evolution of the African-American man. It's called 'From MLK to Flava Flav and Back'."

"Okay. That's scary," Kurt says, following Mercedes through the back entry of the building. "Where are we going anyway?"

"I told you: to meet Ben and Colin at work."

"But I thought they worked at Sports Authority," Kurt says, noting that that's the store they just passed up.

"They do. But tonight is a special night," Mercedes grins, tugging on the handle to a thick metal door.

It opens with a creak and inside is a waxed parquet floor, the sound of shoes squeaking and bouncing balls and kids' laughter ringing throughout the space.

Benjamin takes notice of them first and runs over, basketball shorts and a tank top on. "Hey babe," he breathes, brushing his lips against Mercedes' cheek. "What's going on, Kurt?"

Kurt smiles politely, still taking in his surroundings. "What is this place?"

"It's a basketball court," Benjamin laughs, squeezing an arm around his girl.

"I know that," Kurt says, rolling his eyes. "But all these kids, like, what are you guys doing with them?"

"We came up with this a couple of years ago. Just a place for the kids to come and work on their fundamentals and Colin and I give them a couple pointers. It's nothing too major," Benjamin shrugs, kicking a stray basketball back into play absently. "But, I should get back, though. You guys just sit and watch."

"My man is so awesome," Mercedes gushes, sitting on the bench next to Kurt. "I seriously lucked out."

"Oh, hush," Kurt says, grabbing her in a sideways hug. "He's the lucky one."

They watch the boys with the kids for a while before Benjamin calls them over to join the little scrimmage game they'd started.

"Ooh, come on Kurt," Mercedes half-yells, pulling her friend up before he can protest.

Now, yes, it's pretty much stereotypically expected but while Mercedes isn't awful at this game of basketball, Kurt's adorably dreadful, shrieking and ducking every time the ball comes his way.

A pass from Colin goes awry when Kurt literally runs away from the ball.

"Hummel," Colin barks, walking over to the guy. "What's your deal? Get the lead out."

Kurt's confused. "I don't have any lead."

Colin laughs, punching Kurt in the shoulder. "Man up, dude. We're getting spanked out here," he says, slapping Kurt on the butt. "And not in a good way," he adds with a wink.

Kurt glares after the boy but eventually it mellows out into a smirk and soon he's laughing and running along, still sucking at basketball, but at least he's having fun doing it now.

***o*O*o***

She is not a stalker, okay?

She's not.

It's not her fault that she just happened to be passing by the Chang Dance Studio at the exact same time that Brittany had said she was going.

And it's also not her fault that Brittany saw her walking by and waved her over enthusiastically to come sit in on her session.

And it is most definitely not her fault that Mike keeps accidentally tripping over her outstretched legs every time he twirls by her en route to Brittany.

Those things are merely coincidences.

Ones that she's currently benefiting from, but whatever.

"Whew," Mike breathes out, hands on his thighs as he's doubled over. "Take a breather?" he asks Brittany and she nods.

Mike scampers off to answer as cell and Brittany collapses on the floor next to Santana, smiling brightly in the way that always makes the brunette mirror it.

No exception this time.

Santana keeps her eyes on Mike until the guy is out of the room and then she breathes a sigh of relief, focusing her full attention on Brittany.

"So…" Brittany starts, nudging Santana's shoulder. "What do you think about Mike?"

Santana's smile falters slightly but she answers honestly. "He's cool. He's like the guy version of you. He's hot and kind and…"

"Asian?" Brittany volunteers.

"Britt, you're not Asian."

"But I eat egg rolls all the time," Brittany protests. "Even for breakfast."

Santana smiles. "You're cute," she says, tugging a stray lock of hair behind Brittany's ear.

"I know," Brittany says, matter-of-factly, finishing the statement off with an endearing shrug.

"And modest too," Santana chuckles, wrapping an arm casually around the blonde's shoulders. "I get what you're trying to do Brit-Brit and it's sweet, but I'm okay right now. I don't need a boyfriend."

Brittany lowers her eyes to her own lap. "I'm only trying to help."

"I know," Santana insists, squeezing her tighter. "I know and I love you for it but I'm good. I promise I am."

"Pinky promise?" Brittany asks, holding up her right pinky.

Santana grins, holding up her left pinky and tangling it with Brittany's. "Pinky promise."

Brittany beams and leans forward quickly, pressing her lips to the brunette's before Santana can really protest.

Mike peeks around the corner, smiling and then hiding it before promptly letting his presence be known, keeping his steps heavy so that they'll hear him, eyes still glued to his phone.

Brittany pulls away slowly, her eyes glittering and focused on Santana's wide ones. The brunette feels warm, her reddened cheeks a testament to that.

Mike drops down on the other side of Santana, snapping his phone shut. "So, what'd I miss?"

***o*O*o***

"Okay. Get off," Rachel breathed, forcibly pushing Sam away.

He didn't go very far considering they were in a broom closet, but still, she needed some non-testosterone-filled air.

When Sam had asked her to stay after school for a little practice, this is not what she'd anticipated.

Sam blinked in the dim non-light of the dank closet and breathed deeply a few times, his eyes heavy. "What's the matter?"

"_What_ is going on, Sam?" Rachel virtually erupts, dramatically crossing her arms over her chest. "This is the fourth time that this has happened and each time leaves me more and more confused. I mean, do I like you? Do you like _me_?"

"I like kissing you," Sam shrugs. "Sure you talk to fast sometimes and I think you have some kind of personal vendetta against contractions because I don't think you've ever used one, but I'm willing to overlook those flaws. Your love of mini-skirts is also a definite plus," he adds, moving his hands to hold her low on her hips.

Rachel squeaks and slaps his hands away. "Stop," she hisses, although still smiling so the reprimand falls short of its mark.

Sam sighs and leans back against the shelf behind him, moving his hands to hold his weight up. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"You don't _have_ to keep kissing me, you know?" he says with a sly grin and cocked eyebrows. "You could stop."

"I am…simply…exercising my freedoms of sexuality. As a newly independent woman, I no longer have to confine my sexual exploits to persons I'm romantically entangled with," Rachel says, nodding succinctly. "And I used a contraction so there," she adds as an afterthought.

Sam smiles. "True. But all of that only really tells me one thing," he says, moving closer to Rachel again.

"What's that?" Rachel asks, peering up at the boy through her bangs.

"You actually like kissing me too."

***o*O*o***

"Hey Kurt, me and Ben are gonna go get something to drink. You want something?"

"No, I'm good," Kurt says, sitting primly on the bench.

"You want something Colin?" Benjamin asks with a grin, eyes on his girl.

"Nah, man. You go ahead," the other boy says, still idly dribbling a basketball.

Kurt places his palms flat on the bench and leans back a little, his legs crossed about the knee. "I didn't know you played, also."

"I'm okay," Colin grins cockily, putting up a jumpshot and burying it. "I mean, I do okay."

Kurt rolls his eyes. "I would pay you a compliment but I wouldn't want it to go to your head."

"Just hearing that is compliment enough," Colin says, retrieving the basketball.

Kurt grumbles and looks up at the ceiling, ignoring Colin's barking laughter.

"Okay, alright. I'll quit messing with you. Hey, so, what's been going on with that guy you're seeing?"

Kurt flushes instantaneously but Colin's oblivious to it, easily going back to lay-up drills. "Blaine?" Kurt squeaks.

"Yeah," Colin says, chasing after the basketball. "I think that was his name. You go out with him, again?"

Kurt nods, fiddling with his hands anxiously. "A few times, yeah."

"Oh yeah," Colin grins, looking over at Kurt devilishly. "Did you score?"

Kurt narrows his eyes at him. "Colin."

"Just kidding," Colin says, holding his hands up. "I know you're not _that_ guy," he says, rolling his eyes as he shoots the ball again. "How serious are you two, anyway?"

"Not…very," Kurt is hesitant to say. "Although we had our first semi-serious relationship conversation."

"About what?" Colin asks, wrinkling his brow as he readies to put up a shot.

"Kids," Kurt answers.

Colin's shot smacks hard off the backboard, bouncing off the front of the rim before ricocheting right to Kurt.

The boy shrieks like a girl before cowering from a hit that never gets there because Colin intercepts the ball. "You talked about kids?"

"It…came up," Kurt says, straightening up.

Colin just shakes his head, awed. "That's crazy man. If a guy I just started talking to even mentioned kids to me-"

"We weren't talking about _our_ kids or anything. We were just talking about a guy at school's situation and it somehow came up that he doesn't want kids," Kurt explains, trying to paint a less harried picture of himself for some reason. "That's all."

"What'd you say when he said that?"

"That I also didn't want kids."

Colin tilts his head. "Seriously? You don't?"

"No. Yes," Kurt flusters. "I don't know. Maybe I really don't want kids. Who knows?"

Colin looks down at the basketball in his hands before tossing it over, struggling to not laugh when Kurt almost dislocates something trying to catch it.

"I'll tell you what," Colin starts, pulling the boy up to stand at the free throw line. "If you make this shot, you were lying about wanting kids. If you miss, then that's what really is in your heart."

"But I suck at basketball."

"True. That's how we'll know the basketball gods are really speaking to us. Actually if you sink this shot I should maybe play the lottery," Colin teases.

"Funny," Kurt says dryly, slapping the ball off the floor with both hands, giving it a few cursory bounces.

"Shoot," Colin implores, stepping closer.

Kurt spreads his legs, crouching comically with his toes pointing outward. He tosses the ball up underhand and it bounces on the back of the rim a few times before tumbling through the net with a quiet _swoosh_.

"Oh my gosh," Kurt gasps, covering his mouth with his hands.

His shock matches Colin's as the other guy is equally as floored. "I can't believe…" he starts, holding up his hand for a high-five just as Kurt goes in for the hug.

"I did it," he squeals, holding on tight. "Colin, I did it."

"Yeah," Colin mumbles, bringing his hands round to pat Kurt's back awkwardly. "I saw."

Kurt's grip tightens. "That means I really _do_ want kids."

"I guess so," Colin says, finally relaxing into the embrace.

"Ahem," Benjamin articulates, clearing his throat with a grin. "Did you two wanna be alone or…"

Colin pulls back, embarrassed, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. But Kurt's on another planet, rushing over to Mercedes and animatedly regaling the tale of the miraculous shot that would put Magic Jordan to shame.

***o*O*o***

Finn is just leaving the boys' locker-room when he sees Rachel coming out of the janitor's closet.

It's actually perfect timing because he's been meaning to ask her something, but, wait…huh?

"Hey Rachel," he says, that cute, amused/confused grin on his face. "What are you doing?"

"Oh, Finn," Rachel flushes. "I was looking for…this," she says, blindly reaching into the closet and pulling out-

"A plunger?"Skeptical Finn is skeptical.

Rachel grimaces to cover up a gag. "Uh, yes. Purely for academic purposes," she says, examining the plunger quickly. "Still plungy," she determines, tossing the item back into the closet. Now, what can I help you with?"

Finn blanches this time. "Oh…um…well, this is kinda weird but…we're co-captains of Glee club, right?"

"Right…"

"Well, as co-captains I think it's our duty to get Glee club back on track," he says, staring straight ahead.

Best to keep this strictly business.

Rachel's demeanor shifts to match his. "What you propose? Dinner?"

Finn shakes his head. "Party."

"Where?"

"Puck's?"

Rachel frowns. "No. Mine."

"Veto."

"Compromise."

"Santana's," Finn says, nodding once.

"How are you going to make that happen?"

"Pfft," Finn says, throwing his hand. "Santana loves a party more than she loves her BreadstiX and she _loves_ her BreadstiX. It'll be cake."

Rachel still looks hesitant but she holds her hand out for a shake. "Party at Santana's it is then."

Finn grins, pumping her hand once. "Sweet."


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note: **The word hiatus is synonymous with 'break', as in my sanity has taken a 'break' because of this hiatus. Somebody, anybody, bring me my Glee back.

**Disclaimer: **Don't own. Just borrowing.

***o*O*o***

"Tengo cinta y yo quiero comer los perritos para cenar."

Rachel looks up from her notes to find Quinn daydreaming…_again_.

"Quinn, are you paying attention?"

"What?" Quinn startles to action, sitting up a little straighter in the desk chair. "_Yes_. Of course I am."

"So you find absolutely nothing wrong with my saying I have tape and I want to eat…" Rachel pauses to look up the word and frowns when she finds it. "…puppies for dinner."

Quinn shrugs. "You do have weird tastes."

"Quinn," Rachel whines. "This assignment is really important to me and while everything may come easy to you, _some_ of us are actually having a hard time with the material."

"I'm sorry, Rachel, _God_," Quinn snaps, finally. "Ugh. I've never met a person so outrageously infuriating before. You have the ability to take a person's last nerve and grate against it until they start to wonder how much time they'd get for justifiable homicide."

Rachel recoils as if she's been slapped, sitting back in her chair with a slackened jaw.

"Why are you such a…such a…bitch all of the time?"

Now it's Quinn's turn to reel back, her shock over hearing Rachel swear for the first time evident on her face.

"I'm…" she stammers, trying to find her words. "I'm not trying to be," she finally settles on, looking past Rachel not at her.

"Well," Rachel starts, not completely forgiving quite yet, her words still caustic. "You certainly are doing a very good job for some who's not trying."

Quinn still doesn't look at her and Rachel sighs, moving closer –close enough that Quinn can't help but look at her. "I've said it once before and I probably shouldn't say it again, but, I think we could be friends Quinn. I mean, we must have something in common. Finn dated us both after all."

"That's true," Quinn says, offering a little smile. "And we both messed up with Puck."

"True," Rachel agrees, rolling her eyes slightly and moving away again. "Although some of us erred more egregiously than others."

"Rachel," Quinn cautions.

"Sorry," the other girl squeaks, holding up her hands in surrender.

Quinn rolls her eyes at the brunette's sheepish smile, biting back one of her own as she steadily taps her pen against the margin of her notebook, thinking. "If I tell you something, will you promise not to judge?"

Rachel throws her hand at that. "I think you and I both know that as the Jewish adopted daughter of a gay, interracial couple I am quite possibly the last person qualified to judge anyone. I mean, you can't judge when you do the Soul Train line on Shavuot."

"Well, you might think differently when I say what I have to say," Quinn hedges, clicking her pen a couple more times.

Rachel waits patiently for a few seconds but when nothing more is forthcoming, she nudges Quinn with her shoulder. "Well…"

"How do you feel," Quinn blurts out before she can stop herself. "…about your mom?"

"My mom?" Rachel echoes, not getting where this conversation is headed.

"I was thinking about… going to see Beth."

Rachel's brow knits in confusion, the name not familiar to her for a moment, but then the fog recedes and Quinn watches as the pieces to the puzzle come together.

"You mean-"

"Yes," Quinn breathes, her throat tightening for some reason. "I just, Rachel, I feel like it's something I need to do, you know? Just so that I can have some closure on the whole thing."

Rachel's usual glow is dampened somewhat and Quinn understands. It's a touchy subject for her.

In the end, the brunette nods offering a little smile to boot. "If it's something you feel you have to do."

"I do," Quinn says, nodding once slowly and then again, a little more assertively.

"And I'll go with you," Rachel says, shocking both herself and Quinn.

"What?"

Rachel shrugs, picking back up her notebook and trying to look dismissive. "It's what a friend would do, right?"

Quinn smiles, grabbing her own text book and flipping it open. "Right."

"Okay then," Rachel says, her voice returning to full in-control mode. "Where were we? Oh yes, I wanted to eat puppies for dinner."

***o*O*o***

"You've got the whole lower level annex for the party," Santana says, reluctantly taking a seat next to Rachel, across from Finn. Even though she's not on the Cheerios and she's still in Glee club, it doesn't mean that her interactions aren't being scrutinized on a daily basis. It's best to keep all loser exchanges to a minimum. "But I'm not cleaning anything and I'm not using my allowance to cover Marsha's cleaning bill."

"Who's Marsha?" Finn asks.

"The help," Santana replies dryly, picking at her cuticles. "Anyway, there's no time limit but my dad's reinforced his no pot rule. He said 'no drugs' three times before the dog barked, which either means Cheech Marin is getting crucified or we're getting four more weeks of winter. I forget."

Rachel just shakes her head, turning blankly back to Finn.

"Puck's got the refreshments," he says, forging on. "And Mercedes is bringing her guy. He's a DJ or something, so music's covered," he says, ticking off his fingers.

"What can I do?" Rachel asks, practically bouncing in her seat.

"Not show up," Santana volunteers, sneering as Rachel immediately deflates.

"Santana's just kidding Rachel," Finn assures her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "A Glee club party wouldn't be a Glee club party without Rachel Berry."

Santana snorts. "Truer words were never spoken."

***o*O*o***

There aren't very many things you can say about Noah Puckerman.

In fact, he usually can be described in one word or less, like…horny.

But it's safe to say that the words pushover and Puck never coincided in a sentence.

Until today.

"So, I hear Rachel recruited your assistance with the Glee club party," Lauren tells him, nodding approvingly. "This is good Puckerman. I'm getting to see a different side of you and I likes what I see."

"Psh," Puck dismisses, rolling his eyes. "Is that what she was talking about?" he asks, closing his locker. "I honestly just heard the words 'please' and 'help' and nodded so she'd stop clawing my arm. She may be the size of a hobbit but that midget's got some major grippage."

"So, you're not going?"

"To a Glee party? I'd rather get a tattoo that says 'insert here'," he laughs for a moment but then there's something flying at him and slamming him into a locker.

It's small, brunette, and (unlike the other one) it _can_ speak Spanish. "Oh, you're going to this party. If I have to make night with the captain of the Lollipop guild and Mr. McCripplepants, then you have to go to this party," she hisses, fisting his shirt collar tightly. "Besides, Brittany's on this kick where she wants the whole damn world to get along and unfortunately for you, you're included."

Puck swallows and checks the smirk because Santana's still looking kinda murderous – and hot, but that's a whole other issue entirely – and they're still in the hallway and he'd rather not get his butt kicked before lunch, so smirking, no, not an option. He's about to reluctantly agree when a loud voice intervenes.

"Oh snap," Karofsky bellows, a huge grin on his face, "Did someone say party?"

Azimio circles in from the other side. "I think that is what she said. But, you know what man? I didn't get my invitation. Did you?"

Santana lets go of Puck and rounds to face the guys, staring them down. "That's because you Neanderthals aren't invited."

"Yeah," Puck adds, sticking his chest out. "People who can't stand fully erect aren't allowed." Puck leans down to Santana's ear. "That's right, right?" he whispers.

Santana nods with a frown, pushing him away.

Karofsky's cheeks redden, angered. "Hey man," he points, started forward. "There's nothing wrong with my…my…erection."

Azimio pats his buddy on the shoulder, getting his attention. "Don't sweat it, man. We've got a location. All we need now is the date," he says, smiling cheekily at Santana. "See you at the party."

Puck stares them down as the pair stalks away, laughing at them.

"They'd better not show up if they know what's good for them," he mutters, fisting the strap on his backpack a little tighter.

***o*O*o***

"Okay, Finn. Quinn. Take it away," Mr. Schuester says, taking a seat next to Artie's wheelchair.

"Wake me when this is over," Santana yawns exaggeratedly, letting her head fall onto Mike's shoulder.

"So," Finn starts, looking anxiously at his inattentive audience. Well, save for Rachel because even Mr. Schue seems to be more interested in watching a butterfly fly past the window. "I'm not gonna even lie. It was really weird having to do this with Quinn at first because I kinda thought she hated me."

"I do," Quinn interrupts, but she's smiling so Finn lets it go.

"And I was harboring some pretty intense dislike feelings for her too because of…well, you know."

"Yes, yes, baby gate," Mercedes says, waving the boy onward.

"Well, anyway. I guess that even after all that, I have to say I admire Quinn for still standing. I couldn't have imagined going through all the drama you went through alone and coming out stronger for it, so, I guess that's my thing," Finn concludes, mercifully.

"And," Quinn starts. "The thing I admire about Finn is, no matter how many times he tries and fails, he still keeps plugging away at those dance moves."

This actually gets a laugh out of the club and Finn flushes, although cutely.

"Perseverance," Quinn teases, raising a flirty eyebrow at him. "It's kinda hot, no?"

Santana's interest is piqued because she knows that tone.

Mike's elbow might have something to do with her sudden attention, too.

Mercedes and Tina share a look and Rachel and Sam's eyes narrow suspiciously.

Finn clears his throat, finally looking away. "Anyway, the song we picked is _It Takes Two_."

"Hold up," Artie says, raising a hand. "Ya'll two are not about to rap are ya'll. Because I don't think my ears can take it."

"Actually, we're taking a more classic approach," Quinn informs them, amongst more laughs.

The song is _It Takes Two_ but it's a version about twenty years older than the rap song, as sung by Mr. Marvin Gaye and Ms. Kim Weston.

_One can have a dream, baby  
Two can make that dream so real  
One can talk about bein' in love  
Two can say how it really feels  
One can wish upon a star  
Two can make that wish come true, yeah  
One can stand alone in the dark  
Two can make the light shine through_

Finn and Quinn _cannot_ take their eyes off one another and the reactions of the club are a mix between complete boredom (see Tina, Mercedes, Lauren and Mr. Schuester, Mike), complete inattention (Brittany, because she has now located that butterfly and Artie because he's_ indulging_ her), complete incredulity (Santana, because seriously, again with this), and complete sadness/melancholy/irritation (Rachel, Sam, and, for some reason, Puck)._  
_

_It takes two, baby  
It takes two, baby  
Me and you, just takes two  
It takes two, baby  
It takes two, baby  
To make a dream come true, just takes two_

They finish the song with Finn breathing heavy from all the left-footed dancing and Quinn's cheeks are pink because his arms are still around her and there's no music to dance to.

"Well," Mr. Schuester starts, looking around. "That was-"

"Totally unexpected," Santana interrupts, sarcasm dripping from her voice. "I thought Fuinn was last season. Just try to avoid any hot tubs, Finnocence."

"I, for one, am glad that you two have found your way back to one another."

And as out of sync as the Glee club may be at the moment, none of them miss a beat as all twelve heads swivel in Rachel's direction.

"It proves how incredibly magical true love really is," she continues, a wide smile on her face. "And since we're on the topic, I also have an announcement to make. Sam and I…" she starts, taking the boy's hand and his eyes widen comically. "…are dating."

Now all eyes are on Sam, including Rachel's and she's silently urging him to play along, so he does, offering a little shrug and a nod. "Yep. We are. Da-ting," he says with a smile.

"O-kay, _totally_ did not see that shit coming."

"Santana," Mr. Schuester reprimands.

***o*O*o***

Karofsky and Azimio are thinking hard, trying to figure out how they're going to find out the date of that Glee party.

"I've got it," Karofsky says, snapping his fingers. "We corner Brittany and make her tell us. She's dumb as a box of tops anyway."

"It's a box of rocks, you moron," Azimio yells, eyeing his friend suspiciously. "Man, are you crazy? Do you remember what happened the last time you spoke to Brittany? Oh, yeah, that's right. The doctor did say the blow might have caused selective amnesia."

Karofsky's confused. "What?"

"Santana knocked you the hell out," Azimio fills him in, shaking his head at the boy. "Look, let me do the thinking before you sprain something."

Karofsky begrudgingly kicks a can and it scoots along the parking lot, skidding to a stop just under an immaculately white tennis shoe.

Sue Sylvester steps down on the can and it flattens with a sickening crunch. "Well, well, well. Look what we have here Becky. Two living, breathing, talking walruses. And here I thought you were extinct. Call _National Geographic_, I've got a hot one."

"Careful Coach," Becky warns, scribbling on a clipboard. "You wanted to use them for evil scheme two-thousand five-hundred and seventy-two, remember?"

"Oh. That's right," Sue allows, nodding admirably at her favorite Cheerio. "Excellent as always Becky. Okay, listen up Riff, Raff," she says, nodding at the boys in turn. "Word in the halls is that a certain show choir is having a little gathering?"

"The party?" Azimio asks, raising an eyebrow.

"No," Sue deadpans. "A party is what you call a social event for cool people. This….thing is more like the ten minutes before a wake. Anyway, I want you two to crash that get-together and make life completely miserable for certain ex-Cheerios. As much as I hate to admit it, I need Q, Bubbles and Buttercup if I'm going to return to my rightful place as cheerleading coach of the galaxy. And because I know thinking's not either of your strong suit, here's exactly how you're going to do it."

***o*O*o***

"Can we take a break?"

Artie looks up from his homework and glances over at Brittany's.

The girl had only written her name at the top.

They're lying on Brittany's bed, in Brittany's room, with Brittany's parents nowhere to be found and they're doing homework.

Seriously, why are they together?

"What's the matter, Brittany? Usually by now you would have drawn a whole family of ducks."

Brittany sighs, propping her head up with one hand. "My mind won't slow down," she says, looking at him sadly. "I keep thinking about things."

Artie puts his pen down, giving her his full attention. "Like what kinds of things?"

Brittany shrugs, biting her lip. "I dunno. Stuff."

Artie nods, knowing enough by now that patience is a virtue with Brittany. "Bad stuff?"

"I don't think so, but, I don't really want to talk about it," she finally says after mulling over his question for a few moments. She leans forward a little, giving him a chaste kiss. "I just want to forget for a little while," she says, this time her kiss on the opposite end of chaste.

And she does forget, for a moment, about all the stuff, but the minute they're done and Artie's dozed off, her mind starts to wander again.

***o*O*o***

"What are you gonna give me?"

Santana raises a lone eyebrow at the little scoundrel standing in her doorway.

"What are you talking about 'give you'? You're still breathing. That's payment enough," she scoffs, pushing him out of the way.

"Fine. Don't give me anything and I'll make sure to eat lots of candy and drink a ton of water so that I can stay up super late and impress all your super-cool friends with my armpit serenades," the little boy said, wiggling his eyebrows mischievously.

Santana rolls her eyes but she knows when she's been beat, and even though this party is a super lame idea and she kinda, sort of, maybe hates some of them, she's not about to completely tank the evening by releasing her annoying little brother on them.

Even some things are considered too cruel and unusual for her tastes.

"Twenty bucks keeps you locked up in your room for the night," she says, crossing her arms.

"Forty and you won't hear a peep out of me until sunrise," Angeles haggles.

"Twenty-five and season six of _The L Word_; I don't see you until breakfast."

"Why do you even own _The L Word_?" the boy asks, raising an eyebrow.

Santana ignores that. "Take it or leave it."

"Deal," the boy quickly agrees and she tosses him the DVDs, smirking as he scampers off.

She totally got the better end of the deal.

Jenny's a total nutter that season.

She's about to call Brittany to see what the other girl is wearing so they can color coordinate (because that's what besties do) when her doorbell rings much earlier than anticipated.

She opens the door to find Benjamin standing there and some guy she's certain she's never seen before.

He's cute though.

"Um, hey," Ben starts, clapping his hands against his pockets. "Santana, right? Mercedes said I could come over early and set up the equipment and stuff. Is that cool?"

"Oh, yeah. Totally," she nods, stepping aside so the two boys could lug the stuff in. "Just go straight to the back and down the stairs. You'll see the space."

Santana watches them – well the guy she doesn't know – carry a couple speakers in, something tugging at the back of her mind.

On the second trip she stops Benjamin.

"Who's your friend?" she asks, watching the other boy effortlessly pull turntables out of the back of Ben's black SUV.

Benjamin checks a chuckle. "Oh, um, that's my boy, Colin. We go to school together."

"Oh," Santana smirks, her eyes still on the boy. "He's cute," she offers, dismissively.

Benjamin bites back a smile. "You think so, huh? You know what? Actually, I think you two would hit it off," he says, completely serious. Actually, it might do them both a world of good if what Mercedes has been telling him about this girl is actually true.

***o*O*o***

"I still don't understand how you outing us as a couple is a good thing," Sam says, walking up the side walkway to Santana's house.

Rachel fixes him with a look yet continues to patiently explain why her plan is going to work. "Look, it's not like it's a well kept secret that I'm still in love with Finn. And you still love Quinn, right?"

Sam swallows, averting his eyes so quickly that no one would notice. "Right."

"People always want what they can't have. Inevitably, our torrid romance will wear them down until they come crawling back to us, begging for a second chance," Rachel says, running her fingers through her hair while they wait on Santana's doorstep.

"And if they don't?" Sam asks, cryptically, his eyes meeting Rachel's just as the door opens and Brittany squeals, looping an arm around both of their necks.

"Awesome! You guys made it!" she yells directly into Sam's ear, effectively rattling his eardrum.

The music's loud and almost everyone is already there.

There's a guy – Benjamin, she guesses, from the way Mercedes is clinging to him – over in the corner and he waves before flipping a record over, the song switching over to a Lady Gaga hit.

"Oh man! I gotta go, guys!" Brittany yells, taking off to the makeshift dance floor that's already packed with Mike, Santana, and some other guy she doesn't know gyrating to the music.

Quinn and Finn apparently aren't here yet and she's debating whether to go sit with Tina and Lauren or Puck and Artie, both of whom seem to be having pretty interesting conversations.

"I'm gonna go find us something to drink, okay?" Sam yells/asks and she nods, standing there awkwardly and alone.

"Hey Rachel!" Puck yells, waving her over and finally making up her mind for her. "Come here!"

She walks over and scoots onto the bench they're sitting on.

"So…you and Trouty Mouth, huh?" Puck says, leaning over a little too closely. He reeks of cheap beer and his eyes are glazed over. "What's up with that?"

"Yeah, for real though, Rachel," Artie starts, winding up the ghetto speak. "You gotta break it down for us girlie. I thought you was all about Finn."

"Well, I-" she starts, but stops when Sam taps her on the shoulder. "I couldn't find anything without any alcohol in it. But the punch isn't too strong," he says, handing her a cup before sitting down next to her. "I tasted it myself."

Rachel smiles kindly, taking the cup from him. "Thanks Sam."

***o*O*o***

When one Gaga song ends and Benjamin flips on Ke$ha, Colin waves his hands in the air, looking for mercy.

"I need a breather, yo," he yells next to Santana's ear and the girl nods, stepping off the hardwood with him and dropping onto a nearby couch.

Colin snatches off his baseball cap, wiping the sweat that's collected on his brow. "Damn, girl. You wore me out. I didn't think anyone could keep up with me on the dance floor."

Santana laughs breathlessly, her cheeks flushed from dancing. "That's nothing," she says, nodding at Brittany. "She'll probably keep going all night."

As she says this Brittany spins around, doing a dorky but still amazingly good sprinkler dance, and catches her eye, waving enthusiastically.

Santana blushes deeply and waves back, her other hand playing nervously in her hair.

Colin smiles. "That your girl?"

Santana's head snaps in his direction. "What?" she asks him, blanching.

"Your friend?" he amends, cottoning on pretty quickly. "That's your girl. You know, like, friend?"

Santana nods slowly, the color returning to her face. "She's my best friend," she says, swallowing tightly. "I'm gonna go get something to drink."

Colin didn't really get what Benjamin meant earlier when he told him to talk to the girl; but now, as he watched her walk across the room and fight to keep her eyes from skipping back over to the dance floor, it was all starting to make sense.

Fairy Godfather to the rescue.

***o*O*o***

Kurt and Blaine show up hand in hand and Finn and Quinn show up separately shortly after.

And Puck is hammered enough to not comment on either occurrence.

Well, he does start to wonder aloud about the ins and outs of gay sex before Tina manages to get him off-subject with a Mario Kart reference.

Kurt is beside himself with…wait for it…glee as he introduces Blaine to everyone.

He's all, "This is Blaine, my _good_ friend." Wink. Wink.

And, "My friend from school, Blaine. We sing together."

In fact, by the time he gets to Sam, Blaine's so embarrassed by his actions he cuts the introductions short.

"And Blaine, this is Sam," Kurt says, lowering his voice to a stage whisper. "The guy I thought was gay because of his hair."

Sam blushes becomingly. "Yeah, we met already actually. At the football game," he says, shaking Blaine's hand regardless.

"We did," Blaine affirms, an easy smile on his face.

Rachel rushes over then, gripping Sam's forearm excitedly. "Come on. We're about to play 'I Never'."

"But Rachel," Sam says, following her anyway. "That's a drinking game."

"I know," she says. "But Finn's playing and so is Quinn. Plus, it wouldn't hurt to live a little, would it?" she asks, smiling innocently up at him.

"Hey babe. If you're game then I'm game."

***o*O*o***

Puck holds his hands up when everybody's gathered around, grinning like a fool. "So, we all know how this works, right? Take a swig if it's not true. Okay, I'll start us off. Never have I ever…kissed a girl," he finishes, staring pointedly at Santana who just rolls her eyes but takes a swig of beer too.

Colin lifts his bottle to his lips at the same time as Kurt, the two boys pointing accusingly at each other afterward and Mercedes mouths 'tell me later' to Tina when she sees the girl's upturned bottle at her lips.

"You're next Rachel," Puck says, nudging her with his shoulder.

"Oh, well, um…let's see. Never have I ever…been in love," she says, drinking heartily from her bottle, much like everyone else.

"Lame," Puck mutters but he still takes a swig. "Come on new guy," he says, nodding at Colin. "Give us something good."

"Alright," Colin says, rubbing his hands together evilly. "Never have I ever fooled around with two or more people at the same time."

Puck grins. "Now that's what I'm talking about," he laughs, chugging.

"Colin," Kurt gasps, his hands playfully clutching his chest.

"What?" Colin shrugs, not drinking on this round. "I'm merely giving the people what they want."

***o*O*o***

Five more rounds and Rachel knows entirely too much about the rest of the members of Glee and her entire face is red as she hears – in detail – the different positions Santana has tried.

And she does not mean positions on the cheerleading squad.

She's trying to erase the images that thought evokes from her mind when Finn meanders up next to her.

"Hi," he says, hands in his pockets.

"Hi," she mutters back, never one to shy away from eye contact.

"I want to apologize, Rachel," he starts, diving right in. "For the way you found out about Quinn and I. I know that singing a song in Glee wasn't very sensitive."

"It's fine Finn," she shrugs aloofly, sipping from her plastic cup.

"Well, yeah, I know you're okay with it and everything but that doesn't mean that what I did-"

"We're not dating anymore, Finn," Rachel cuts him off. "You're allowed to see whoever you want to," she says, no malice or judgment in her voice. "And I'm allowed to date whomever I want."

That's really what Finn's getting at, you see, and while he won't say it, he's kind of pissed that Rachel's seemingly moved on.

And even more pissed that she's moved onto Sam.

He won't say that though.

Finn swallows. "Right."

***o*O*o***

"So…" Kurt starts, finally catching up to the boy, alone. "You kissed a girl. Did you like it?"

Colin shrugs. "I've had worse things on my lips."

"Like?"

"Brussels sprouts?" Colin guesses and Kurt laughs, looking at the floor to hide his blush. "How about you?"

"It wasn't…horrible," he says after a minute. "Brittany's a pretty good kisser."

"That Brittany?" Colin asks, gesturing to the half-dressed girl currently sitting in Artie's lap and attempting to vacuum seal herself to his face. Kurt nods. "Damn, dude. And you're still gay?" Colin laughs and then laughs some more when Kurt scrunches up his nose playfully.

"I see you're hanging out with Santana," Kurt says cryptically.

Colin nods. "She's cool."

"She wants to sleep with you," Kurt deadpans.

"Oh, don't they all," Colin says, shaking his head with a laugh. "Wow, you guys really are clueless," he continues, looking pointedly at Kurt. "But, they always say it's best to look at a situation from the outside from time to time."

"What are you talking about?"

"Let me break down some things for you, young Kurt. That girl over there," he says, subtly pointing to Santana. The Latina's draped over Mike, sobbing uncontrollably into his shoulder as something slow pumps from the speakers. "She is so tragically in love with the 'pretty good kisser' it's almost pathetic. And, what's even crazier is that Blondie totally loves her back but she can't just dump the guy in the wheelchair, obviously. At least, I think that's what's holding her back. Or maybe it's just Santana seems hell-bent on staying in the closet," he explains, scanning the room for another subject and finding one in Puck. "Now, the mohawk-ed dude was a little harder to figure, but watch him right…now. Did you see that?"

Kurt shakes his head, looking back to Colin questioningly. "What?"

"He just totally looked over at that other blonde – the one all on that giant guy."

"Quinn?" Kurt asks disbelievingly. "No way. They have horrible history."

"I'm telling you, man. I see these things."

"Oh yeah," Kurt grins, raising an eyebrow. "What else do you see?"

"I see," Colin smirks, looking past Kurt's shoulder. "I see the guy you came here with looking like he wants to hit me."

Kurt's eyes widen and he turns around, finding Blaine standing there and looking a tad put-off.

"Talk to you later, Kurtsies," Colin chuckles, clapping him on the shoulder and taking off.

***o*O*o***

The party's finally winding down and one by one the kids all shuffle off into the night.

Blaine and Kurt leave, this time not hand in hand and Finn and Quinn don't bother trying to cover it up on their way out, their hands in one another's pockets.

Mike offers to walk Tina and Lauren home, chivalrous as always and Sam doesn't say a word but offers his elbow and Rachel smiles before hooking her arm through his and walking off into the night.

Benjamin tells Santana – though she probably doesn't hear it – that he'll pick his stuff up at another time, Mercedes nearly dead-weight against him and Colin is trying to get up from the couch without waking the Latina and having a rough go at it because she'd apparently decided that he was her pillow.

It takes some effort but he manages and he goes over to a quiet Brittany, whispering a 'Please take care of her' in her ear.

Brittany nods and Colin looks over to Artie with a small, albeit small, smile.

The poor guy doesn't know what's coming to him.

"You need a ride?" he offers.

"Could you?" Artie nods, wheeling over. "I rode with Puck but he's," he looks over at the boy, drooling into Santana's parents' leather couch. "…indisposed at the moment."

"No problem," Colin smiles, turning and catching up with Benjamin to let him know.

Brittany kisses her boyfriend goodbye and waves at the car before closing the door and walking back into the room.

It's a mess and Santana's gonna be pissed when she finally sobers up, but she can't help but smile when she sees her friend clutching one of the toss pillows to her chest while she sleeps.

She bites her lip and thinks about the best course of action. Santana's a horrible morning person but, after a night of sleeping on the couch, her crankiness level goes up about three notches, so she can't stay there.

Brittany manages to get her into a sitting position – or slumping position would be more accurate – and she crouches in front of the sofa, grabbing Santana's hands and draping them around her shoulders before standing up, effectively giving the other girl a piggy-back ride.

She quietly tip-toes up the stairs and down the hall to Santana's bedroom, pushing open the door and, huffing and puffing, finally depositing the girl onto her bed, sitting down next to her.

It's been a long time since she's done that – not since they were twelve – and either she's not a Supergirl or Santana's a lot heavier than she used to be because Brittany is _tired_.

"Britt," Santana slurs, a clumsy hand reaching in the air toward her friend.

Brittany shuffles in closer, leaning down to hear.

"Britt," the girl repeats, her brown eyes open and staring up into blue ones. She smiles suddenly. "Hey Britt."

Brittany can't help but smile back, taking the Latina's still wandering hand and clasping it with one of hers, threading their fingers together. "Hey San."

"You know what, Britt-Britt," Santana whispers, her words still very rounded at the ends. "You know something; I think…I've been thinking."

Brittany concentrates very hard on Santana's face and the other girl looks very serious all of a sudden, and maybe, but this might be a stretch, not so drunk. "Yeah?" she prompts.

"Mmmmmm hmmmm," Santana nods – actually she just ducks her head in an attempt to nod – drawing those two syllables all the way out. "And I think, I think that I could love you the bestest Britt-Britt. Better than anybody else," she whispers, her eyes glassy but focused. "I know I could."

Brittany's chin trembles, not accustomed therefore not immune to Santana's unveiled words. She leans down, brushing a kiss to Santana's brow, watching amusedly as the girl tries to follow and her eyes cross. "I know you could too, San."

When she pulls back, Santana's all smiles, her eyes opening and closing drowsily. "Good," she whispers before yawning, her eyes fluttering closed just after.

Brittany watches her for a little while, not entirely trusting that the girl was asleep but after a few moments of complete stillness from Santana, she has her reassurance.

She stands quietly and, after a moment's hesitation, decides to forgo their newfound Santana-imposed rules and climbs on the bed behind her, settling in the spots unwittingly left vacant by the other girl. She wraps one arm around Santana's prone form and snuggled in tight, her nose resting just above the girl's shoulder.

***o*O*o***

Karofsky yawned, still staked out in front of Rachel's house. "When the heck is this party supposed to start man? It's getting late."

"Shut up," Azimio hisses, ducking behind the bushes. "Someone might hear you."

"Who's gonna hear you? There's no one out here," he grumbles, batting at the brambles scratching at his face. "When did Santana get mulberry bushes anyway?"

Azimio glares at the boy. "What did you say?"

"There's no one out here?"

"No, the other thing. About Santana? Why are you talking about Santana?"

"We're at Santana's house, aren't we?" Karofsky asks, his brow furrowed.

"No, we're at Rachel's house because that's where you told me the party was going to be at," Azimio grits out.

"Yeah, well that was the intel I got at first but then I sent you that text about the actual location," Karofsky says.

"I didn't get no text, man."

"Well, I sent it," Karofsky assures him, digging out his cell phone. "See, it's right here in my…draft box," Karofsky finishes sheepishly. "Oops."

****OOO****

Songs included in this chapter include:

_It Takes Two_ by Marvin Gaye

P.S. Don't know if the Spanish translation is correct or not, it's been a while since high school Spanish class.


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: **Don't own. Just borrowing.

**Author's Note: **Happy Tuesday! Glee Day! I hope everyone had a nice weekend. It's been a while since I updated this one but I finally feel like I've gotten it back on the right track, and I apologize in advance for the formatting because MS Word was being a bitch to me or something. Thanks for reading and reviewing and a special thanks to my Beta who I know I've been driving crazy lately with these insomnia-born stories.

* * *

"What's your type?"

"I don't really think I have one," Colin says, sitting across from Santana, still nursing a slushie. He'd come to their school with Benjamin but had quickly gotten dragged away by his – apparent – new best friend.

Not that he was complaining.

It turns out that he and Santana had lots of things in common: Music choices, eateries, crazy little brothers. Not to mention that one _other_ thing.

But Santana doesn't know about that yet.

Santana smiles, twisting her straw around in her drink. "Everyone has a type," she drawls, fixing her eyes on him.

"I don't know," Colin shrugs, getting where this conversation is headed. "Someone muscular, I guess. But not too beefy. Someone with big, strong hands. Maybe a strong jaw line."

Santana's confusion is evident "So, you like body-builders?"

"Um…no. But I'm not really into lightweights either," Colin explains, shifting a little in his seat and scooting forward. "See, I like guys who-"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Excuse me?" Santana holds up her hands. "_Guys_?"

Colin's ready for this. "Yeah," he says with a shrug. "Guys."

Santana's eyes widen and she leans forward, lowering her voice to a whisper. "So you're…I mean you like…you're…"

"Gay," Colin supplies loudly and tamps down his amusement when Santana's head swivels around worriedly. "It's not a big deal, Santana."

"Yes it is," she hisses, crossing her arms over chest defensively.

"Why?" Colin asks, raising an eyebrow – a perfectly manicured eyebrow which makes Santana question why she didn't _know_ before. "Are you going to suddenly stop being my friend because of who I can't help but like?"

Santana rolls her eyes. "No. It's just-"

"Do you suddenly have somewhere else you just _have _to be?"

"_No_," she says. "It's just."

"What?" Colin questions softly, abandoning his drink and placing a hand over hers – grazing a boob too, but we won't go there. "It's just what?"

And really, that's what it all comes down to. What is it that bothers her so about Colin and Kurt and even Brittany for that matter?

She envies them; envies them because of their unshrinking ability to be comfortable in their own skin, something which has never come easy to her.

"Look, Santana," Colin starts, abandoning his side of the bench and sliding in next to her. "This doesn't change anything. I'm still the guy who rocks out to Katy Perry and the Black Eyed Peas. I'm still the _only_ guy who can eat you under the table at Breadstix. It's just now I come with the added advantage of helping you check out guys."

Santana grimaces. "I think I'll pass."

Colin chuckles, squeezing her hand briefly before letting it go. "So, are we good?"

"We're good." Santana nods once.

"Good because we're going out tonight," Colin says, moving to gather his things.

Santana's brow knits. "Where are we going?"

Colin stands, brushing down his coat, not looking up at her. "Dusty's."

"But isn't that a gay bar?"

Colin grins. "Yup."

***o*O*o***

"Hì'i tanhì."

Rachel turns away from her locker and is met with the sight of a single flower, and a grinning Sam.

"It's Na'vi for 'little star'," he explains.

She plucks the flower from his hand, looking at him in question. "What is this?"

Sam shrugs. "Just something I picked up on my way in today. Figured if we were gonna pretend to be dating I have to at least make it look good," he says.

"Oh," Rachel says, her shoulders falling a little bit. "Of course."

Sam holds his arm out for her before walking down the crowded hallway. "The guy at the flower shop told me it was a stargazer lily. It's supposed to mean ambition or something," he explains, looking straight ahead. "I just picked it because it looked nice. Kind of reminded me of you, I guess."

It's an offhanded compliment and Sam's so dismissive that she can't really read anything into it but she can't help the light blush that's painted across her cheeks any more than she can help the fact that she's Jewish, or compulsive, or on the verge of international superstardom.

Yes.

She sets the bar _pretty_ high.

***o*O*o***

So Puck isn't the bad guy anymore or even a badass anymore but he's still a stud.

And he's reminded of this when Courtney Akers just grins, letting his hand travel ever higher up her cheerleading skirt.

"So what do you think? Me, you, and some of Jose's finest," he murmurs, his other hand grasping her hip.

"I think…" the girl starts, resting a hand on his sternum, stroking idly. "…that that sounds perf-"

"Dude, I gotta talk to you."

Puck groans, leaning his head against the locker as Courtney quickly pulls her hands away from him. "Talk to you later, Puck," she mumbles, walking away quickly.

"Hudson, you freaking interloper," the boy mutters, turning to look at his friend. "I had her, man."

"Do you even know what interloper means?" Finn grins.

"No. It was the word of the day," Puck fires back. "But you're still a dick."

"Whatever," Finn says, rolling his eyes. "I wanna ask you something and I want you to be perfectly honest with me."

Puck's eyes widen. "I have _not_ slept with Quinn. I'm like eighty-two percent sure of it."

"What?"

"I mean ninety-two."

Finn just waves his hand at that. "I'm gonna pretend you didn't say that," he says slowly and Puck lets out a sigh of relief. "But, since we're talking about relationships and stuff, and you're an expert on cheating, do you think Rachel was creeping around with Sam behind my back?"

Puck snorts loudly. "What?"

"Dude, don't you think it's weird that they're just suddenly together? No build-up. No meaningful conversations. Heck, no _actual _conversations."

"No. This is Glee," Puck deadpans.

"I don't know, man," Finn says, spotting the couple in question walking arm in arm down the hallway. "Something's just…off."

"Why do you care anyway?" Puck asks him, not seeing what the big deal is. "You're with Quinn now. What, are you still into Rachel?"

"No," Finn answers quickly. "No, I'm not."

Saying it twice doesn't make it true Mr. Hudson.

Puck stops their open classroom door, Botany class or something. It doesn't really matter. "Then drop it."

Finn looks to them one last time – narrowing his eyes when Rachel parts ways with Sam, standing on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek – before following Puck into the classroom

"Yeah. I'll drop it."

***o*O*o***

"I tried calling you last night," Artie says to her, his wheelchair rolling slowly to a stop.

Brittany stares into her locker to avoid looking into his eyes. "I was asleep."

"Well, yeah, I figured that," Artie mumbles, looking up at the girl and noting with some alarm that she looked nervous. "I was just wondering why you didn't call me back this morning. You know, like we do."

"I don't always have to call you Artie," Brittany unexpectedly says, her voice uncharacteristically carrying some inflection. And if it were anyone else but Brittany he'd snap right back, but it's not so he doesn't.

And she feels bad for doing it. It's not his fault he's not you know who.

Artie frowns. "I'm not saying you have to. I was worried about you, that's all."

Brittany softens momentarily. "I know. I'm sorry. I just..." She should tell him. She should tell him right now and just end it all. But she can't. She can't because he's really all she has and while it sucks to be in a fake relationship, it'd suck even more to be alone. "My cat ate my paper on 'The Healing Power of Double Rainbows' and now Mrs. McNamara is going to make me give it orally. And I hate speaking in public because I always forget when to use their, they're, or there."

Artie's eyebrows knit together because, really, what does it matter when you're speaking orally, but he smiles reassuringly nonetheless. "I'll write the paper for you, Brittany. You don't have to worry."

Brittany smiles back, even though in the back of her mind she thinks that Santana would've encouraged her to do the speech. The Latina probably would have cut class to support her, glaring at anyone who'd give Brittany a hard time. Santana was always her strongest supporter.

Is.

Not was, is.

Sometimes Brittany forgets that they're still friends and that, more than anything, bothers her the most.

"I think maybe I should handle it myself, Artie," she says after a while.

"Okay, what is going on with you?" Artie asks quietly. "You've been acting weird ever since...ever since," He wants to say when, but the fact of the matter is she's always been weird. Ever since they've been together. In fact, the only time he's seen her _not_be weird is when she's been with Santana. "You're acting weird."

"Maybe I want to do something by myself for a change. Did you ever think of that? I can do stuff by myself sometimes." Her eyes flash.

"I never said you couldn't," Artie hisses, keeping his voice low because they're starting to attract attention to themselves. He reaches his hand out to grab her wrist but only clasps air as she jerks away. "You know what?" he says, past annoyed now. "I don't care what's wrong with you. You're making me crazy. Find me when you're done being moody."

Artie spins around without looking back at her, nearly running over Mike in his haste to get away.

"Whoa," Mike laughs, smoothly jerking out of the way. "Pedestrians have the right of way Abrams."

When Artie doesn't turn back around Mike frowns, looking after the boy's retreating form before turning back to Brittany.

His nice boy meter goes off the charts when he sees the girl struggling not to cry.

"Um..." He starts, looking at his friend. "What was that all about?"

"I don't want to talk about it," she mutters, eyes downcast.

Mike looks at her sadly. "Not even with me?"

Brittany only shakes her head and Mike reluctantly lets it go. "S'okay Britt," he says, draping an arm around you. "Let's go get a slushy."

***o*O*o***

"What am I doing here?"

Figgins holds up his hand, silencing the woman. "Will said he needed you here for this."

"Shouldn't have told me that, Figgins. My interest was waning the moment I stepped in here but now that you've mentioned that overly-processed quaff-bearing, baby-butt for a chin having, reliving his own disastrous high school days Schuester, I am past bored. I'm…aburrido."

"That's the same thing Sue," Figgins says, rubbing his temples. "Just in Spanish."

Will finally stalks into the office, slamming the door behind him and standing there for a minute, his bandaged hands on his hips.

Sue rolls her eyes. "Well, that was dramatic."

Will almost leaps at her but stops himself, holding his hands up in the air like he doesn't know what to do with them. "She," he starts, looking from Sue to Figgins. "This woman needs to have her license revoked." He points at her. "She should not be allowed to teach. She's unstable!"

Sue jerks back. "I think that's a little bit of the gay calling the flamer queer if I must say so myself."

Will does leap at her this time, making a sound of disbelief and anger.

It's hard to describe in words actually.

"Calm down, Will," Figgins pleads, the voice of reason. "Now, tell me. What did Sue do?"

"What did she do?" Will repeats incredulously, running a hand through his hair – it stays in place. "What did she _do_?"

"_So, I was thinking we could focus on the up and coming talent for our next assignment," Will says, walking into the choir room late, as per usual. "What's wrong with you guys?"_

_The whole class is sitting rigid, not daring to move an inch but Artie gestures to the corner and Will turns just in time to see the Rottweiler before it attacks._

"Luckily enough for me, Brittany knows German."

Figgins and Sue look notably surprised and Will shrugs because he has no explanation.

Figgins turns to the cheerleading coach. "Sue, did you do this?"

"How _dare_ you?" Sue gasps, holding a hand to her chest because she's that affronted.

"Oh come on," Will rolls his eyes. "Who else would do it?"

"Just off the top of my head," Sue starts, counting off fingers. "Sandy Ryerson (you took his job), your _ex _-wife, emphasis on ex there Bud, her sister Kendra because I don't think she _ever_ liked you, a vest-Nazi, anyone, anywhere with an abhorrence for hair that's been re-worked more than Joan Crawford's face. I could go on," she concludes, looking to Figgins. "Do you want me to go on?"

"That's quite enough Sue. You're dismissed."

Will explodes. "What?"

"William," Figgins interjects. "There will be a proper investigation into the incident."

"You don't need an investigation," Will squeaks out, his voice shrill. "_She_ did it."

"You don't have any evidence, William," Figgins says, stressing every word like always because of his accent. "So, as of now, there is nothing I can do. My hands are tied."

"Well, I'll just be on my merry way then. I have a speaking engagement at the local YMCA. You know, sometimes you have to go into the community and remind people what they could have been and now will never be. People like you, Will."

"Good_bye_ Sue," Will grits out, not looking at her because he might snap if he does.

***o*O*o***

"Jacob. Ben. Israel."

"I know that I have no right to even speak to you and I fear I'll turn into stone if I look directly into your eyes but what am I doing here?"

Coach Sylvester is behind her desk, her right hand holding a melting chocolate bar. "Let me be frank with you, kid, because I can tell you're a real sharpshooter and also you're sweating so much you're pit-staining through your sweatshirt. I think…we can help each other. And by 'help' I mean serve and by 'we' I mean you and by 'each other' I mean _me_."

"I'm not following."

"You write that little school gossip blog, right? Well, over the weekend, you posted a little nugget about a video containing evidence of a 'salacious affair involving two well-acquainted glee club members'. Now normally, I wouldn't care what Scheuster's little devotees are up to but he's turning out to be more unflappable than his hair and now it's time to get dirty. So if you will," she holds out her hand. "The tape."

Jacob looks afraid. "As a journalist, I took a vow to never use my investigative skills for evil."

"Figured you might say that. So I brought a little insurance," Sue says, pulling a laminated packet out from her desk.

Jacobs gasps. "Is that-"

"That's right. A mint condition copy of the introduction of The Green Lantern. Or should I say _your_ mint condition copy. It'd be a shame if someone were to take it out of this protective sleeve and handle it with bare hands, especially if those hands are covered in chocolate."

"I'll give you the tape!" Jacob yells, almost falling out of the chair.

Sue grins. "Good boy."

***o*O*o***

"Hey Elvira!"

Santana only stops because a) she recognizes coach's voice anywhere (she still has nightmares) and 2) there's no one else around (except Norman Mallory but he's, you know, deaf).

She has no idea who the hell Elvira is.

Her arms automatically cross and she easily slips into the defensive. "What do you want?"

"Where's your yang?"

"Who?"

"Your soul's opposite. She's about yea tall," she says, holding up a hand. "Blonde, not too bright though. You know; the wheel's spinning, but the hamster's dead."

Santana is not amused. "Brittany?"

"That's the one," Sue says, snapping her fingers like she honestly didn't know the girl's name. "What, do you two not hang out anymore now that she's dating that kid who's too lazy to walk?"

Santana looks away for a barely discernable moment, but it's enough to let Sue know she's pushing the right buttons. "We hang out."

"But not as much as before," Sue maintains. "Before you joined the Cheerios, I thought you two were some bi-racial Siamese twins. I was a day or two away from calling Jerry Springer."

Santana's mouth draws into a pout before she shakes it off. "What's your point?"

"Very well," Sue nods, no longer bothering to keep up the act. She'd forgotten how well she'd taught her girls. "My point is, I think you miss her. And I think you'd jump at the opportunity to have her back to yourself. Well you're in luck, Sandbags, because I've got that opportunity right here." She brandishes the tape.

"What is that?"

"Wouldn't you like to know? I'll give it to you. But you gotta do something for me, first."

"I knew there was a catch," Santana says, rolling her eyes.

"Of course. First, you come back to Cheerios and you leave Glee club. Second, get Quinn and Brittany back on the Cheerios and to leave Glee club. It's a win-win for you. You get your BFF back full-time and you get to be a Cheerio again without having to be water-boarded for treason."

Santana bites her lip. It is a tempting offer. "And if I refuse?"

"You can spend the rest of your high school career playing the third wheel; which, since there are already four wheels actually makes you the fifth wheel. And while you can explain away a third wheel because it's useful sometimes – like on a tricycle – a fifth wheel is just ludicrous."

***o*O*o***

_So I have some options._

_I can accept Sue's offer and quit glee and rejoin Cheerios and be popular and protected and have Brittany back by my side again, where she belongs._

_Or…_

_I can reject Sue's offer and let my best friend gradually – yet surely – slip away from me._

_Or…_

_I can just find Jacob Ben Israel and shake the information out of him._

_And we have a winner._

_See, the best thing about being me – or at least one of the best – is that I have a ridiculously unreadable poker face._

_Once, I totally convinced my mom that she had given me permission to take the Benz to Britt's house._

_I was, like, seven._

_So when coach waved that piece of plastic on my face and I saw the – unmistakable – Hebrew lettering signature of Jewfro, I turned on the act, playing it cool and still making coach think she had me._

_I know._

_I'm good._

_Now, down to business._

_Here comes the weirdo now and as usual his eyes are glued to my chest._

_He's such a perv._

"Hey, Juddha Ben Hur, staring at them doesn't make them grow, okay? So cut it out."

"Oh, Santana. I didn't see you there," he squeaks out, touching his glasses anxiously. "To what do I owe the pleasure."

"Sylvester has a tape. Your tape. I want to know what's on it."

"Well, as a journalist, Santana, there's only so much-"

"I'll let you touch my boobs."

"Artie kissed Tina."

***o*O*o***

She corners him in the boys' bathroom and, with any other girl, people would do a double-take but since it's Santana they don't even bat an eye.

Artie swallows. "I feel like I should run for my life but I'm in a wheelchair so…yeah."

Santana's furious and it's not for the reasons she should be. It's like, yes, she's mad at Artie but she's even more upset because why would anyone want to hurt Brittany?

It just doesn't make sense.

She looks up at the ceiling for a moment and, when she looks at him again, her gaze has softened a bit. "Why'd you do it?" she asks him, her voice breaking.

"I'm… sorry? What is it that I did?"

"You kissed Tina."

Artie's eyes widen and he sort of deflates right then. "How did you…um…"

Santana rolls her eyes, getting all the confirmation she needs. "It doesn't matter how I found out," she snaps.

Artie looks stricken. "Does Brittany know?"

Santana raises an eyebrow. "If you didn't tell her, then no. Brittany doesn't know. Just…seriously, how could you?"

Artie rolls forward. "I didn't mean for it to happen. Tina and I were just in the choir room and one thing led to another and…Santana, you can't tell her."

"Of course I'm not going to tell her," the girl says, crossing her arms and fixing him with the "look". "_You're_ going to tell her. You're going to tell her because you owe her at least that much. And if you don't tell her, I will. Now, we're done here."

With that Santana leaves the bathroom, leaving Artie to wrestle with his own demons.

***o*O*o***

"You really don't have to do this if you don't want to."

Rachel, ever the composed one, actually rolls her eyes and she's so bad at it that it makes Quinn chuckle. "Quinn, you are a dear friend, but if you say that to me one more time then I am going to… pate sti."

Quinn pulls up outside of the house and kills the engine, giving Rachel a look. "Are you speaking Na'vi now?"

Rachel's ears redden but other than that she's the picture of calm. "Sam is always prattling on in it. I guess some of it make have rubbed off on me."

Quinn side-eyes her and it's making the brunette very uncomfortable so she clears her throat. "Shall we?"

"Okay," Quinn says slowly, still looking at Rachel curiously. She'd had her doubts about this Sam/Rachel thing but looking at the other girl now, she's not entirely sure she was correct in assuming it was some kind of fly-by-night pairing.

"You're staring at me," Rachel comments, walking up the driveway. "Stop it. It's rude."

The door opens before they even get there and Rachel's birth mother, Shelby Corcoran, comes bustling out to meet them, looking a little frazzled. "Oh girls, am I ever so glad to see you. I know this is an incredibly weird and completely insane request but something has just come up at work and I need to be there and I can't find a sitter and, well, I'll just come out and say it, but can you watch her for me?"

Quinn's jaw is on the ground.

No, it literally is.

Rachel just stepped on it.

"I know it's short notice and you've never even...I wouldn't ask if I wasn't absolutely desperate for help here. Please, please, please girls?"

Rachel looks over to Quinn and before she can stop herself, she nods, looking thunderstruck as Shelby places Beth in her arms.

"Oh my God, thank you. You're a dear," the woman says, slinging her purse over her shoulder and unlocking her car door with the press of a button. "You're both dears. Everything you'll need is inside and my number is on the fridge in case of an emergency!" she calls out, climbing into her car and starting it without hesitation.

Rachel turns back to Quinn slowly, awkwardly holding the little girl who is happily munching away on her chubby fist. "Here she is," she grins, lifting the baby up slightly.

Quinn faints.


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: **Don't own. Just borrowing.

**Author's Note: **Hi guys. It just dawned on me that it's Friday the 13th and I'm posting two chapter thirteens. I don't know what that means but I'm _so_ avoiding any black cats. Thanks for reading and reviewing. Oh, and apologies for the drought. I needed a break. See ya next week. Thanks again and special thanks to my Beta.

**Gleecap: **So, I took away one thing and one thing only from Tuesday's episode: Quinn Fabray is off her nutter. She _has _to be, you know? Because only a person who is certifiably insane would ignore the douchebaggery (that's not a word, is it? Oh well. It is now) of her boyfriend and go after Rachel. I mean this guy practically ignored her all night, leering at his ex-girlfriend and then he picks a fight with said _ex_-girlfriend's date and gets himself kicked out of the prom you were trying to become queen of and you go go after...Rachel? Seriously Quinn Fabray, get your shit together. You should have been punching Finn in the junk instead of slapping (the shit, did ya'll see that?) out of Rachel. I am so glad I'm able to separate reality from fiction because I love Cory (even though right now I kinda hate him because of the Canucks thing) but I hate Finn with the fire of 100 suns. That being said, I loved the episode. Granted Figgins probably shoudn't have read Kurt's name (like, he knew that that was wrong. His face said it. So why would you even put it out there man? Fail, Figgins. Just...fail) and Santana was awesome again (Naya Rivera is on point) and Karofsky - excuse me - Dave is so multi-dimensional it's heartbreaking (Kudos, Max Adler). Man, where did they find these people? _Glee_ really lucked out. Anyways, what are you guys' thoughts on the episode?

* * *

"Oh my Gosh. Please wake up. Please?" Rachel pleads, fanning the blonde girl furiously. "I'm too tiny to go to prison. And while _Chicago_ was very entertaining, I can assure you the Roxy Hart guide to becoming famous is not the most successful blueprint."

Fainting spell aside, Quinn still has to roll her eyes as soon as she opens them because leave it to Rachel to take yet another non-relatable event and make it applicable to her "career".

And people think Mercedes is the diva.

"Oh thank God," Rachel breathes, noticeably deflating.

Quinn notes that they're inside now, her head resting atop a cushioned sofa instead of cool asphalt. Rachel must have dragged her in or something.

Maybe Santana's right about that leprechaun thing.

"Relax Rachel," she mumbles, sitting up slowly. "I'm fine and your career, although it still exists solely in your head, is not in danger." She takes a look around the completely pristine living room, all white save for the black and white photos adorning the walls.

Also, gold stars.

_So_ related.

"So this is where you get it from."

Rachel balks. "Wh-wh-what?"

"Nothing," Quinn dismisses, looking around for a different reason. "Where's Beth?"

Rachel grins proudly.

"In the bathtub."

"What?" Quinn jumps up, eyes wide and already moving about the home even though she doesn't really know where she's going.

"There's not any _water_ in it," Rachel says, matter-of-factly, following Quinn as the girl, remarkably, navigates her way to the master bathroom.

"You don't put a _baby_ in a bathtub unsupervised, Rachel. It's like leaving Brittany in a duck farm or Puck at a nunnery; you're just asking for bad stuff to happen."

They find Beth giggling happily amidst a sea of fluffy stuffed animals.

"See? Safe and sound," Rachel says, albeit it sheepishly, glancing over at a bristling Quinn.

Quinn just stares at her.

This was going to be a long night.

***o*O*o***

_**I'm nervous.**_

_**More nervous that I've ever been.**_

_**More nervous than the time Coach Sylvester caught me with that **_**Playboy**_**.**_

_**It was Puck's. He'd just dumped it off on me when he saw her coming.**_

_**I'm more nervous than I was when I had my first kiss.**_

_**I'll never forget it.**_

_**More nervous than when we found out that I'd probably never walk again.**_

_**And this time, all this nervousness is attributed to the person sitting directly across from me, completely oblivious to what's about to go down.**_

_**Sometimes, I envy her.**_

"Brittany, I have to tell you something," he blurts out, twisting his hands nervously in his lap.

Brittany just laughs, still nuzzling Lord Tubbington, the enormous cat purring loudly.

"Brittany," Artie sighs, leaning forward slightly and taking her hand. "I need you to pay attention to me, okay? This is really important."

Brittany stops with the cat and looks up, her face blank but he knows her wells enough to know that's her concentration face. "Okay."

"I want you to know, before I tell you what I need to tell you, that I love you, okay? Only you," he says earnestly, his voice quiet.

Brittany smiles widely. "I know."

He swallows. "Brittany…" he starts, strengthening his resolve. "Brittany, I kissed Tina. It was just a one-time thing and I swear to you that it meant nothing and it'll never happen again."

Artie watches in horror as the smile slowly fades from Brittany's beautiful face. And she pulls her hand away, slowly placing it back in her own lap.

"Brittany," he whispers hoarsely. "I'm sorry."

"If it didn't mean anything," Brittany says slowly, her face displaying more clarity than he's ever seen on her. "Then why did you have to tell me about it?"

Artie's floored.

Everybody thinks Brittany's not the most brilliant crayon in the box but she's really smart when it counts.

"I-," Artie can't think of anything to say, and it's okay because Brittany's not done.

"I knew already."

Artie's eyes widen. "Wait, you knew? What, did Santana tell you?"

"_Santana_?" Brittany furrows her brow, questioning. "No. Why would Santana tell me?"

***o*O*o***

"I've never met the parents before," Blaine says, breathing shakily as they stand in front of Kurt's house.

"Oh, quiet, you totally met my Dad before," Kurt murmurs, brushing down Blaine's jacket lapels, a barely concealed excuse to touch him.

"But that was different," Blaine insists. "We were in public and at a football game at that. We could barely even talk. This is dinner, at your house," he explains, shrugging slightly. "It's more intimate."

Kurt smiles, leaning up to press his lips against Blaine's. "I like intimate."

Blaine smiles into the kiss and the pair get a little carried away, only breaking apart when Finn shuffles up the walkway, looking awkward as ever and clearing his throat.

Kurt blushes becomingly. "Oh, Finn," he mutters, moving away from Blaine with a sheepish smile. "Didn't see you there."

Finn digs around in his pocket for his house keys, looking amused. "Yeah, I kind of figured that, Bro."

Blaine chuckles and the trio clamor inside, Kurt and Blaine holding hands.

"Where's Quinn?" Blaine remembers to asks.

"Oh," Finn says, hanging up his coat. "She's not coming. Yeah, she got caught up with Rachel or something."

Kurt's eyes widen. "Rachel and Quinn are hanging out? Isn't that one of the signs of the apocalypse?"

Carol Hudson-Hummel pops her head into the foyer from the living room. "There you are boys. Get washed up and get in here before Burt eats it all."

"She's not kidding!" Burt's voice calls out from the dining room and she rolls her eyes slightly before ducking away again.

"Dibs on the end seat," Finn calls, rushing ahead of them to join the others.

Kurt glances over at an obviously nervous Blaine, the boy taking calming breaths.

"Hey," he says softly, squeezing the hand he's still gently clasping. "You'll do fine."

***o*O*o***

"I don't know why I'm not crying."

Mike is sitting across from her – crisscross apple sauce – in the dance studio, a giant bowl of strawberry ice cream between them.

Mike's spoon is just for show, though. He's allergic to strawberries but he knows it's her favorite.

"Are you sad?" he asks her, drumming his fingers on the parquet floor.

Brittany pouts. "Yes. But I'm not sad Artie cheated."

Mike's visibly surprised, his eyebrows meeting his hairline. "You're not?"

Brittany just shakes her head, stuffing another spoonful of the pink dessert in her mouth.

"Well, then, why are you sad?"

"'Cause ov wut haffened in cool."

Mike can't help but grin at his friend trying to speak around a mouthful of ice cream. Sometimes Brittany was just _painfully_ adorable.

"What '_haffened_' in school, Britt?"

"_San."_

_The Latina almost slams her hand in her locker in her haste to close it._

"_Britt," she chastises, her face heating up._

_The blonde looks down, scuffing her toe on the ground._

"_M'sorry," she mumbles, but her lips are upturned and Santana doesn't think she's sorry at all._

"_It's fine. What did you want?"_

"_You."_

_Santana pauses, almost swallowing her tongue. "Excuse me?"_

"_What are you doing tonight?"_

_The question is innocent enough and so is the tone; Brittany's eyes, however, look like they've been around the block a couple of times._

_She's tempted to just give in, just fall back into whatever it is they had before high school when boys became the end all and be all._

_Then she remembers._

"_Why?" she questions sharply. "Aren't you and your boyfriend going to wheel off into the sunset?" She grimaces after she says it, not anticipating (nor liking) the images it provokes._

"_Don't cowboys do that?"_

"Brittany_," Santana lightly chastises._

"_I don't want to hang out with Artie. I want to spend some time with my _best_ friend."_

"_As opposed to your boyfriend?"_

_Santana pops an eyebrow but Brittany just shrugs._

_The Latina rolls her eyes and shrugs back, smirking. "Can't. I made plans with Colin." _

_She conveniently leaves out the fact that those plans are strictly platonic._

"_Oh."_

_Brittany looks crushed, but Santana steels herself against the instinct telling her to reach out and pull her friend into the tightest hug until Brittany's frown turns upside-down. Instead, she clinches her fists so tightly her knuckles whiten, telling herself that she's not going to be the reason Brittany breaks up with Artie. And if she's alone with the blonde for any extended amount of time, she'll spill. She doesn't ever want to cause Brittany that amount of pain._

Ever.

"_Yeah. So, I can't."_

_Brittany pouts a little while longer before nodding. "Okay. Maybe some other time?" she asks, hopefully, and Santana's stomach knots uncomfortably._

"_We'll see."_

"She doesn't want to be my friend anymore," Brittany sobs suddenly, ice cream forgotten.

"Hey," Mike says gently, shifting around so that he's sitting next to her. "Britt, that's not true. You and Santana are best friends forever."

"But she didn't tell me about Artie, and she doesn't want to hang out with me anymore, and she's going out with that boy with the dimples and Santana has a dimple fetish, did you know that?"

"Oh Britt," Mike sighs, coaxing the girl to lay her head on his shoulder. "I wouldn't worry about Colin."

"And the worst part is, even if Santana does decide to be my BFF again, it's gonna suck because that's not even what we are. Or, that's not _all_ we are."

Mike's breathing kind of stutters here because even though he knows – heck, they all know; even Artie – nothing has ever been confirmed. Which is crazy considering the big gay crushes they have going on.

"What are you then?"

Brittany smiles, staring off into the distance, her mind's eye picturing Santana.

"She's my Thomas O'Malley."

***o*O*o***

"Aw, look at you," Quinn coos, bouncing Beth lightly on her lap. "Aren't you the most precious thing ever?"

Beth gurgles happily, swinging her teething ring excitedly before burping…_loudly_.

"That is all Noah, right there," Rachel giggles, putting away several of the toys Beth had tried already.

"Whatever," Quinn mumbles, pressing a quick kiss to the baby's billowy soft cheek. "Just be grateful it didn't come out of the other end."

Just as she says it, baby Beth scrunches up her nose – much like Quinn does when she thinks something's weird – and a foul odor spreads quickly around the nursery.

"Spoke too soon," Quinn gasps, holding her at arm's length. "Take her."

"And do what with her?" Rachel looks bewildered.

"Change her."

"Um, to quote Mercedes, hell to the no."

"Rachel," Quinn says, standing up while still holding Beth awkwardly. "We agreed on this already. I'd feed her, you'd change her, and we'd both put her to sleep."

"I do not recall agreeing to this arrangement."

"That's because you were too busy ranting and raving about Ms. Corcoran's CD collection."

"Well," Rachel says, putting her hands on her hips. "Excuse me for having trouble reconciling the fact that the same woman who gave birth to the musical icon that I am destined to be would also spend her hard-earned money on Heidi Montag's _Superficial_. It's absolutely ludicrous."

"This conversation is absolutely ludicrous," Quinn deadpans, pushing Beth at Rachel. "Now, take her."

Rachel quirks and eyebrow and gently but firmly pushes Beth back. "No."

"Rachel," Quinn grumbles, holding her out again. "Take her."

"Quinn." And Rachel pushes her right on back again. "No."

Quinn holds her out one more time and all the back and forth must have given the poor baby a little case of motion sickness because she upchucks right down the front of Rachel's favorite sweater.

Quinn, amazingly, stifles a chuckle. "…I'll change her," she mumbles out, grinning at Rachel's withering look.

***o*O*o***

"Okay, so in honor of this special occasion, I wanted to try something a little fancy, schmancy," Carol says, setting a steaming pan of lasagna atop the dining room table. "And since Kurt told me you were a vegetarian, Blaine, I really had to dig deep on this one."

"Oh, I didn't want to be any trouble," Blaine says.

"No trouble at all," Carol reassures him.

"Wait, there's no meat in this?" Finn asks, a slice already plated and a forkful already in his mouth.

"That's what vegetarian means sweetie," Carol gently reminds him before adding a stern, "and don't talk with your mouth full."

Burt sticks his fork into his chunk of lasagna, pulling up a cheesy, stringy, clump of pasta loaded with…

"Is this spinach?"

"It's good for you, Dad," Kurt says, swallowing down a mouthful. "Eat up."

Burt actually pouts a little and Blaine continues eating quietly.

It's a little – okay it's a lot – tense and Carol's at a loss for what to do.

Finn, bless him and his little oblivious heart, is already reaching out for thirds.

And Kurt keeps gazing lovingly at Blaine after every other bite.

And Blaine is smiling back, even though he looks nervous as all get out.

And Burt? She holds back a peel of laughter.

Burt really hates spinach.

"You know what we need?"

"Breadsticks," Finn mumbles out excitedly.

"Chew, Finn," she lightly scolds him. "But no. I was thinking we could have a little mood music. Sound good?"

"Sure Mom."

"Sounds great Carol."

"Fabulous."

"Blaine?" Carol questions, looking at the boy.

"That'd be lovely," he answers, still looking anxious.

"Okay then," she says, getting up and heading to the stereo. "I hope everybody likes the Beatles."

The first strains come out and Finn takes up the percussion, using his fork and spoon on the table while Kurt knocks his knife against his tumbler gently, taking over the cymbals.

Surprisingly, Burt takes the lead on the first verse, Finn accompanying him.

_Here come old flattop he come grooving up slowly  
He got joo-joo eyeball he one holy roller  
He got hair down to his knee  
Got to be a joker he just do what he please_

Blaine visibly relaxes, smiling widely as the Hudson-Hummel clan rocks out around him. He joins in.

_He wear no shoeshine he got toe-jam football  
He got monkey finger he shoot coca-cola  
He say "I know you, you know me"  
One thing I can tell you is you got to be free  
Come together right now over me_

***o*O*o***

"I seriously don't know what else to do, Quinn. She doesn't want _anything_," Rachel near cries.

Quinn stops shaking the music note rattle momentarily. "Wow, you really _are_ at your wit's end. You're using contractions. _Multiple_ contractions."

"She _hates_ us."

"No, she doesn't," Quinn says, taking the wailing Beth so that the brunette can be free to haves a proper meltdown, flailing arms and all, because she's just so good at those. "She just…she just…"

"She just what, Quinn?" Rachel asks flatly, her patience beyond wavering.

"She just misses her mother," Quinn says brokenly, looking down at the baby still crying in her arms, Beth's little chubby face red from the exertion of it. "She doesn't know us. We're strangers to her. _I'm_ a stranger to her." She laughs humorlessly through a sob. "I carried her inside of me for nine months. _Nine_ months, Rach. And, I'm a stranger to her."

Rachel doesn't quite know what to say, a feat in and of itself.

"You…you don't have to be," she finally states, scooting closer to both of them. "Shelby, in her own way, is allowing you that opportunity. You don't have to be a stranger to her, Quinn."

Quinn nods, listening and hugging Beth a little closer to her, the baby's wails tapering off. "You're right, Rachel," Quinn whispers, sniffling a little. She's so in her own head that she doesn't notice Beth taking hold of her index finger and gumming it like there's no tomorrow.

"Of course I am," Rachel says, primly. "And, look, you got her to stop crying."

Quinn smiles ruefully. "Give it a minute."

***o*O*o***

Colin looks over his shoulder while waiting for Santana to answer the door, just taking in the ambiance of the quiet neighborhood.

But, to his surprise, Santana doesn't answer the door; her little brother does.

Colin smiles. "Well, hey there, little guy."

"Little guy?" Angeles returns. "C'mon man. I'm thirteen years old."

"My mistake," Colin concedes with a laugh, holding up his hands. "Is your sister around?"

Angeles nods. "She's around."

Colin rolls his eyes – this kid was _so_ like his brother. "Well, can you get her?"

The little boy leans against the door jamb. "Well, that all depends?"

"On?"

"How much money you have."

"Angel!" Colin hears Santana's voice – _finally _– from inside the house, and soon after the girl emerges, still fixing her hair. "¡Angelito, vete!"

The young boy cackles before taking off, Santana's foot casually tripping him as he passes by.

She turns her gaze to Colin and has to admit that he cleans up pretty nicely in jeans and a simple v-neck print tee.

It must be the muscles.

"I don't mean to offend you or anything but, is your little brother your pimp? Because he just offered me you in exchange for cash," the boy grins, sensing something off about her.

Oh yeah…

"Why are you wearing a burlap sack?"

Santana looks down at her attire:

Sweats.

Attractive.

Actually, on her, they still kinda are.

Santana rolls her eyes grandly. "This is the least revealing outfit I own."

"I see that," Colin muses, offering her his arm as they walk toward his car. "But _why_ are you wearing it?"

"No point in putting the goods on display if they're not for sale, right?"

Colin shakes his head, giving her the once-over. "But, San, now you look, really, really…"

He wants to say gay so badly.

Because, she does look it, so badly.

But he knows that if he does say anything this could all go, so badly.

So he keeps it to himself and just cuts the sentence off, gesturing vaguely.

"Well," she says, climbing into his car. "Like I said, maybe this'll keep all the unwanted advances away," she muses, topping the look off by tugging a baseball cap low over her eyes.

"Yep," Colin says.

'Nope,' he thinks.

***o*O*o***

Blaine pulls back from Carol's hug. "Thanks for inviting me, Mrs. Hummel. Dinner was delightful."

"You're welcome anytime," Carol tells him warmly, turning on the porch light and leaving the two boys to say their good nights.

Blaine wraps his arms around Kurt, his hands clasped loosely at the base of his back.

"You're quite the charmer, Blaine Anderson, and you have quite an impressive vocal range," Kurt teases, brushing the back of his hand across the other boy's cheek. "You've been holding out on me."

Blaine laughs earnestly, his eyes twinkling as they seek out Kurt's. "On you? Never."

Kurt smiles and leans up to kiss him again, this time lingering because there are no interruptions.

"Good night," he whispers, brushing a thumb along Blaine's cheek.

"Good night," Blaine echoes, untangling himself and not heading toward his car until Kurt's safely back inside the house.

"Can I have a word with you, Blaine?"

The sound of Burt's voice startles him but not so much that he jumps. He's just…hyper-aware.

"Sure," Blaine nods, already half-expecting what's coming.

Burt takes a deep breath and dives right in, setting his shoulders. "I can see how much you like Kurt. And, trust me, my son's over the moon about you. And this puts me, his father, in a very awkward spot. You see…Kurt's my _son_. He's my boy and I know how very vulnerable he gets. I've always tried to toughen him up, not because he was gay, but because he always wears his heart on his sleeve. I know about teenage romances. I know how great everything can feel and be until, one day, it's just not. I don't want that for Kurt," Burt finishes. "Ever."

Blaine nods, understanding what Burt's trying to say to him. "With all due respect, Sir, I'm Kurt's," Blaine says, shrugging a little. "I'm Kurt's for as long as he'll have me and I promise you that I will do my best to never do anything to hurt him."

That's exactly what Burt needed to hear.

***o*O*o***

"Just do it already," Rachel pleads, ducking as the rubber duck flies her way.

Beth was crying – again – and Quinn was contemplating calling the one person she knew could save them.

Quinn closes her eyes and hits the send button.

***o*O*o***

"No thank you," Santana politely declines, slinking down even further in her seat.

Colin chuckles quietly, still nursing the rum and coke he'd managed to score. He chuckles harder when Santana sends a death glare his way.

He may or may not have failed to mention that tonight was Ladies' Night at Dusty's.

Oopsie.

"Aww, come on Tanny. You gonna spend the whole night scowling or are you going to loosen up a little bit and let that freak flag fly?"

"Of course not," she tells him and he smiles. "I'm leaving," she adds. "Now."

"No, you're not," Colin dismisses easily. "And do you want to know why?"

"Enlighten me," she says dryly, making him laugh again.

"You're not leaving because every time you get up from this table you get hit on and come running back to me like Freddy Kruger's after you."

He's kicked in the shin – hard – for his assessment, however accurate it is.

"Ow," he mumbles around more laughter, more amused than anything. "Okay, I'll make you a deal. Two drinks, one more hour. If you're still that uncomfortable then we can leave, 'kay?"

"Deal."

***o*O*o***

Quinn pulls open the door looking absolutely frazzled.

"Hey babe," Puck greets with a smirk. "Where do you want me?"

Quinn smacks him in the head, feeling too haggard to actually verbally reply.

He follows her, or rather, the sound of Beth crying and finds Rachel and the baby in the nursery, both rocking so fast in the rocking chair that he gets a little dizzy just from watching.

She doesn't even notice them at first.

"Oh Noah, thank God," she says, standing abruptly and hurrying over to him, Beth in arms. "I was thinking of converting to Catholicism just to see if Jesus would be of more assistance."

"Hey, baby girl," he coos, scooping her readily out of Rachel's arms. "What's the matter, huh? Did Rachel tell you the Masada story?"

"We tried everything, Puck," Quinn starts, explaining their predicament. "We've tried burping her."

"Feeding her," Rachel interjects.

"All of her toys," Quinn adds, gesturing to the disastrous nursery. "We changed her, gave her a bath, her teething ring."

"We are out of ideas," Rachel finishes, looking sadly at the still crying baby.

"Have you tried...music?" Puck asks and they both look flabbergasted.

"Guess that's a no. Figures," Puck murmurs, handing Beth back to Quinn. "The one time Rachel should be belting away and she turns into Hellen Keller."

He grabs his guitar, turning slightly before plucking out the chords to a classic, yet familiar, song.

"Back me up."

_Isn't she lovely  
Isn't she wonderful  
Isn't she precious  
Less than one minute old  
I never thought through love we'd be  
Making one as lovely as she  
But isn't she lovely made from love _

After the second verse, Beth's eyes finally succumb to the lull of sleep and Puck silences the guitar.

"Oh look," Rachel whispers, peering over at a sleeping Beth in Quinn's arms. "She's so cute when she shuts her trap."

"I was going to say the same thing about you," Puck quips, earning a stern glance and smile from Quinn.

"Be nice," she warns and Puck just shrugs.

"When is Shelby coming back?" Puck asks, yawning loudly.

Rachel shrugs, rocking herself lightly in the chair and closing her eyes. "She did not give us a definite time."

Quinn leans against his shoulder. "Well, I'll just chill here until she comes back," Puck tells them quietly, the two girls already drifting. "You know, just in case she wakes up."

Judging by the girl's quiet snores, there are no objections.

***o*O*o***

_"Ladies and ladies, please welcome to the stage or the first time ever here at Dusty's - performing __Diana Ross__'s "_I'm Coming Out_"- Santana Lopez and Colin Herrera. Better known as Hispanic Hispanics. Yeah, they're kinda drunk."_

The lights go up on the stage and Colin's in one corner and Santana's in the other when the music starts to play. She's forgone the sweatshirt and hat, her hair loose and wavy, cascading over shoulders now left deliciously bare by a tank top.

_I'm coming out  
I want the world to know  
Got to let it show  
I'm coming out  
I want the world to know  
I got to let it show_

Colin takes verse one and plays off the crowd, getting down with some dorky dance moves, and Santana…Santana actually comes to life.

_There's a new me coming out  
And I just had to live  
And I wanna give  
I'm completely positive  
I think this time around  
I am gonna do it  
Like you never do it  
Like you never knew it  
Ooh, I'll make it through_

She takes over verse two and the crowd goes nuts because while sober Santana can sing, drunk Santana can _saaang_!

_I've got to show the world  
All that I wanna be  
And all my 'bilities  
There's so much more to me  
Somehow, I have to make them  
Just understand  
I got it well in hand  
And, oh, how I've planned  
I'm spreadin' love  
There's no need to fear  
And I just feel so glad  
Every time I hear:_

They finish up together, dancing goofily, sloppily, drunkenly, but still cutely and the crowd gives them a more than enthusiastic round of applause.

"See, you're having fun, right?" Colin asks her, helping her down from the stage.

"That was awesome!" Santana yells into his ear and Colin laughs loudly, holding her upright.

"It sure was," someone else says from behind Santana and the less than coordinated Latina fumbles like someone one crutches in a mine shaft in her haste to see who it is.

Hey, drunk Santana still gets obscure references.

When she does see who it is though, Colin nearly has to pick her jaw up off the floor.

"Hey there," the other girl drawls and Colin's gay – like Elton John and Clay Aiken at a Ricky Martin concert gay – but even he knows a hot chick when he sees one.

And he sees one.

"Uh," Santana grunts out, comically.

"I really liked your performance up there," the girl gestures to the stage, her gray-blue eyes sparkling with mirth. "_Hot_."

"Uh," Santana repeats.

"Look, she's pretty much out of it right now but, if you'd give me your number, when she sobers up, I'll have her give you a call," Colin says, sounding like an agent.

The girl smiles at Santana again. "I really hope so."

Colin leans into his friend since she's close to falling into him while the other girl writes her number down on a stray napkin. Boldly, she tucks the piece of paper under the strap of Santana's tank top, her fingers warm against already heated skin. "Don't lose that," the girl says with a wink, walking away.

Colin waits until she's gone before looking at Santana with a grin. "Dude, you just got cruised. How does it feel?"

Santana pouts, her eyes crossed as she peers into his. "She's not Brittany," she mumbles miserably into his shoulder, pressing her forehead into his neck while the room keeps spinning.

"Aye," Colin says, rolling his eyes. "Santana, you've got it so bad."

***o*O*o***

Shelby recognized his car in the driveway but that still doesn't mean that she isn't surprised to see Puck stretched across the length of the couch, Quinn facing him and little Beth snuggled in between them.

Puck has his arm wrapped around the blonde, pulling her closer and Quinn has a hand splayed across Beth's tiny tummy.

Rachel's stretched out nearby, curled in a little ball in the sofa chair and clutching her autographed copy of _Barbara Streisand's Greatest Hits_.

She decides to let them sleep for a little while.

***o*O*o***

Songs in this chapter include:

_Come Together _– The Beatles

_Isn't She lovely _– Stevie Wonder

_I'm Coming Out_ – Dianna Ross

Also, if the Thomas O'Malley reference is too obscure: .com/watch?v=lFZc3gyBEOA


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: **Don't own. Just borrowing.

**Author's Note:** Sorry for the absence. Life/work, all that jazz. Actually, I'm not doing very well to be honest. Can everyone do me a favor and send some good vibes to my beta? I'd appreciate it. Thanks for reading, reviewing, favoriting, following, and overall being awesome.

* * *

Santana groans as she finally comes to, the buzz of her alarm having worked its way into her consciousness.

She feels awful; her head hurts, her sinuses are clogged, and it sounds like her little brother is rustling around in her bathroom, again.

The little snot.

She's still fighting the haze when she forces herself into a sitting position, swinging her legs off the bed and onto the carpeted floor, and swiftly making her way to the bathroom.

Then she screams.

"Ahhhh!"

She backs out of her bathroom quickly, scrambling away in horror at what she's just witnessed and it doesn't get any better when Colin comes out of the bathroom, her favorite towel wrapped around his waist.

"Santana," Colin says quietly, holding up his right hand and holding onto the towel with the left. "Let me explain."

"Please," Santana starts, eyeing the boy cautiously. "_Please_ tell me we did not sleep together."

Colin's brows scrunch up. "What? No, Santana I'm gay, remember?" he says, 'and so are you,' he wants to add but smartly wages against it. "It was late last night and I crashed on the floor, okay? That's all."

Santana looks skeptical, but, glancing over at her bed, she does see a couple of pillows and a duvet on the floor. "So, nothing happened?"

"Nothing," Colin says, smiling kindly.

Santana heaves a giant sigh of relief, falling back on her bed. "Thank God. I thought I was getting so desperate that I'd just sleep with anything," she says.

Colin narrows his eyes, still very much naked except for the towel. "Thanks a lot. Um, by the way, you might want to put some shorts on or something because that thong isn't hiding much."

Santana gasps and reaches for a pillow, covering up. "Go away."

"I'm going," Colin chuckles, heading back into her bathroom.

Santana smiles, getting up and heading over to her dresser to pull out some shorts when something sitting atop it catches her eye. "Colin?"

"What?"

"Who's Darcy?"

***o*O*o***

Quinn stirs slightly, distant noises scraping lightly against her eardrums.

It sounds like someone's cooking breakfast, smells like it too, but that confuses her because the last time she had actual breakfast in the morning her nanny was serving it.

She shifts again, propping an arm against something warm beneath her and it gives much too easily to be her bed.

That's when her eyes pop open.

"Puck," she nearly shouts, smacking the boy hard on the chest and waking him up instantly.

The boy grunts, his brow furrowed as he springs to animation. "The _hell_ Fabray? Why are you so damn violent?"

She pushes away from him and is relieved to find that they are both still very much clothed, but even her foggy mind is embarrassed for thinking that and her face heats up, her temper flaring. "Why are you in my bed?"

"We're not in your bed," Puck shoots back, sitting up against the arm of the couch.

He's right, of course.

They're still at Ms. Corcoran's and Rachel's still in lullaby land.

Quinn still looks rather bewildered. "What-"

"Babysitting?" Puck supplies, trying to ring a bell. "Beth? Crying?"

It all comes back to Quinn at once. She and Rachel getting roped into babysitting, playing with Beth, Puck coming over when the baby wouldn't stop crying. "Oh yeah," she finally says, stupidly, and Puck rolls his eyes. "Well, where is she?" she asks, tucking herself into the other side of the sofa – as far away from him as possible.

Best to be safe.

Just then Shelby comes into the room, Beth nestled in the baby carrier attached to her front. "Rise and shine girls and boys."

Puck rubs at his eyes sleepily, smiling at the little girl and even Quinn can't stop her lips from upturning as she watches Beth slobber all over a piece of toast.

"Does Rachel usually sleep like this?" the woman asks, casting a cautious glance in the girl's direction.

Smiling devilishly, Puck chuckles as he nudges his foot against Quinn's. "Watch this," he murmurs. "_The sun'll come out…tomorrow…Bet your bottom dollar that tomorrow…there'll be sun_," he sings, his voice just loud enough to float over to the sleeping brunette's ear.

Rachel shifts a little in her sleep as Quinn, grinning all the way, joins in.

"_Just thinking about…tomorrow…clears away the cobwebs and the sorrow…'til there's none…_"

Shelby steps toward them and joins in on the next part, Rachel steadily shifting on the loveseat now. "_When I'm stuck with a day that's gray and lonely…I just stick out my chin and grin and say….oh, the sun'll come out…tomorrow…so you gotta hang on 'til tomorrow, come what may…."_

Rachel pops up. "_Tomorrow! Tomorrow! I love ya! Tomorrow! You're always a day away_," she sings, eyes still closed but belting away.

Puck and Quinn dissolve into the loudest laughter while Shelby just looks on fondly as the noise startles Rachel awake.

"What…what's going on?" she mumbles sleepily, glancing around at her strange surroundings.

"You guys should probably get a move on," Shelby says, sitting on the sofa between Puck and Quinn, smiling when Puck reaches up so Beth can curl her fist around his finger. "I think school starts in a half hour."

"School!"

***o*O*o***

"You let me what?"

They're standing on opposite sides of her bed, both dressed for school but in the middle of a little discussion involving the number Santana has in her possession and the events of last night.

Colin is on the verge of fearing for his life.

"Okay… Santana…. inside voice," Colin cautions, keeping his distance.

"Don't tell me to use my _inside voice_," she warns, throwing another pillow at him. "_You_ use your inside voice."

"It's not even that big of a deal," Colin says, dodging another pillow. "It's not like you're gonna call, or like you'll ever have to see her again. So, no biggie."

Santana's eyes widen in horror. "I got some girl's number at a gay bar and you say it's no biggie. Do you even _know_ me?"

Colin looks at her. "You kind of have a flair for the dramatic, did you know that?"

"Ugh," she grunts out, throwing a shoe this time. Colin ducks.

"That almost hit me," Colin yelps, his voice dripping with accusation.

"I know," she deadpans. "I'll aim a little lower next time."

"You're reacting very strongly to this. Much more strongly than is suitable. Methinks you're protesting too much."

"Habla Ingles, idiota." Santana rolls her eyes.

"_Maybe_ the only reason you're freaking out is because you want to call this girl. And now that the possibility of pursuing something is very real, you're reacting very much like a gay girl struggling with her sexual identity would react," Colin states smugly with a firm nod, hands on his hips. "I got that from Tyra!"

Santana's shoe connects squarely with the boy's groin, and she smirks triumphantly, hands on _her _hips as the boy crumbles to the floor. "But, then again," he squeaks out, holding himself. "Maybe I'm _way_ off."

***o*O*o***

"Dude," Puck says, stepping up to the boy and snatching his 7-up can away. "You were supposed to be keeping an eye on her."

Mike, straw still in his mouth, looks back at Puck, bewildered. "I am."

"Then how come Tina's telling me that Mercedes is telling her that Benjamin's telling her that Colin's telling him that Santana got some girl's number at a gay bar."

Mike thinks that over. "Huh?"

"Don't make me say all that again," Puck groans.

"But, Puck, isn't this a good thing though? She's gradually inching out of the closet," Mike grins.

"With the wrong girl," Puck fires back.

Quinn materializes next to Puck and grabs his arm, whipping him around to face her. "I need to talk to you."

"Chick, I'm busy," he says, shaking off her grip. "Women," he mutters, rolling his eyes and turning back around to face Mike. "So, like I was saying-"

Quinn grabs his earlobe…_hard._

"Ow!" Puck shouts, flailing comically.

"I _said_, I need to talk to you," she repeats, voice firmer.

She turns his ear loose and Puck grumbles as he straightens up. "We're not done, Chang," he tells the other boy and Mike gladly takes his leave.

Quinn looks pissed and, even though she's uber-hot when she's mad, she's also very indecently violent.

His purple-nurple count can attest to that.

"What did I do _now_?" he asks, just waiting for it.

"Hopefully, nothing yet. And it'd better stay that way," she cautions, raising an eyebrow. "Finn and I are together and I don't want anything messing with that. That includes your hazy recollection of what happened last night."

Puck smirks. "You mean waking up to find you draped all over the Puckster? I knew you still wanted all up on this."

Quinn kind of growls even though her cheeks flare red. "I don't _want_ all up on anything. You just need to keep your perverted thoughts away from Finn, you got it?"

"Whatever, Q," Puck says, rolling his eyes. "I'll make sure your boy wonder doesn't get his ego crushed yet again. But it's gonna cost ya'. Your 911 call last night totally ruined my plans for the evening."

"What, the ones with your hand?"

"That's gross," Puck ascertains, looking mildly amused. "I'm sort of proud."

"I'm not sleeping with you, Puck," Quinn hisses, flicking him between the eyebrows, holding back a smile when Puck instantly reaches for the irritated area.

"Not talking about that, either, Fabray. It's something for Glee…for a friend."

Quinn looks at him, her brow raised. "Well, what is it?"

***o*O*o***

"Let's try this again," Puck says, sliding into the desk behind Mike and leaning forward. "Explain your inattentiveness."

"I have been watching Santana, dude, it's just...I just..." Mike throws out over his shoulder.

Puck shrugs, waiting impatiently. "What, man? Spit it out."

Mike hunches his shoulders up before falling back against his chair, a dreamy look on his face. "I'm in love."

"Say whaaaaa?"

Mike looks up, reliving the scene in his head. "There I was at the Chinese buffet, grabbing a chicken feet salad and I heard the most angelic voice ever proclaim-"

_"I believe I'll take the __duck sauce__."_

"I saw her and I was floored, smitten instantly. I'd never seen such a beautiful girl before."

Puck smacks his arm, breaking the flashback. "We must not go to the same school then because Chang, there are some definite future MILFs walking these halls."

"I'm just saying," Mike shrugs. "She's beautiful to me."

"Who is this chick then?" he asks, sitting up further.

Mike all of a sudden turns sheepish, shifting uneasily in his seat. "Don't get mad."

That statement confuses Puck."Why would I get mad?"

"Because I'm pulling a Rachel?" the boy says, wincing slightly.

"What does that even mean? Dude, are you crushing on Finn? Because I can assure you if you're gonna switch teams you could do a _whole_lot better."

"What? No. It's," Mike lowers his voice. "Sunshine."

It takes Puck a moment to register the name but when he does his gasp is mighty comical. "The Vocal Adrenaline chick? What the hell, Chang? Are you _trying_to make us lose?"

"It's not like that. She doesn't even know I'm in New Directions."

"She doesn't remember you from competitions?"

Mike shrugs. "All Asians look alike."

***o*O*o***

"Okay guys," Mr. Schuester says, standing in front of the full classroom. "You've all had plenty of time to work on your projects. So I'm expecting some mind-blowing stuff. No pressure whatsoever, right?" he grins at them and they all grumble through their forced chuckles. "Okay, well," he says, rubbing his hands together enthusiastically. "Who wants to go first?"

Quinn sinks down in her seat, casually holding her notebook up in front of her face.

Today is totally not the day for this.

In their haste to make it to school on time, the trio – or rather the duo (she has to remember to stop including Puck in things) – had forgotten all about their Spanish project presentation.

Leave it Rachel of all people, though, to care none for preparedness.

"We should go."

Quinn peers over her shoulder to where Rachel is sitting, ready and willing to make a complete fool out of herself. She, on the other hand, has to be smarter about these types of things. Without the protection of the Cheerios, Quinn only has her intellect and beauty to help maintain her popularity. Completely voluntary displays of public humiliation are to be avoided at all costs.

"We definitely should not," she hisses back, her eyes darting up to where Mr. Schuester is growing impatient.

"Why not, Quinn? We are thoroughly prepared and you yourself said that our presentation is perfect. Plus, we would have the added advantage of going first. That gives us the unique benefit of setting the bar _and_ making the first impression: A surefire way to get an 'A'."

"I don't care about any of that, Streisand! If you raise your hand, you're giving this presentation _alone_," Quinn challenges, narrowing her eyes in the brunette's direction.

Rachel bites her lip, turning to face forward once again, watching Schuester frown. "No one wants to go?" he asks, deflated.

Rachel's hand shoots up in the air defiantly. "Quinn and I will go, Mr. Schuester," she says, cutting her eyes in the blonde's direction smugly as Quinn's jaw drops slightly.

"Excellente," he says, smiling brightly once again. "I knew I could count on you two. Alright, everyone, let's give them our fullest attention."

"Hola classe," Rachel starts, shuffling a couple few sheets of paper as she heads to the front of the room. "Now, Quinn and I have spent countless hours in our bedrooms together, trying to work some things out-"

"Queer," Karofsky barks out behind a poorly disguised cough and the rest of his jock buddies laugh.

"I don't see what's weird about it David, we were merely experimenting," Rachel adds, much to the absolute glee of the boys and Quinn, mercifully, puts the girl out of her misery.

"The meathead," Quinn says, glaring in the boy's direction. "…is implying that we engaged in some homosexual behavior, Rachel."

"Oh," Rachel says, not put off at all. "Well, I can assure you that nothing of the sort transpired. Neither I nor Quinn are lesbians, although I would not shy away from admitting it if I were."

"Ditto," Quinn says proudly, thinking of a certain frenemy of hers.

"So if you are done with your commentary Mr. Karofsky, may Quinn and I continue with our presentation?"

Dave withers noticeably when Mr. Schuester looks angrily at him and keeps his mouth shut.

"Very well," Rachel smiles, moving to turn off the lights.

***o*O*o***

Will walks into the office without looking, still humming Rachel and Quinn's surprisingly fantastic mash-up of Pitbull's "Give Me Everything" and Los Del Rio's "Macarena" (hey, it worked) and then walks back out, sure he is mistaken.

The words on the door still say _Pilsbury-Carlson_ but Emma is not the person sitting at the desk.

"Holly?" he questions, looking at the blonde woman quizzically. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, that's not a very nice hello, Will," she says, pushing up out of the desk chair and walking the few feet over to him. "Didn't your Mama raise you better than that?"

"I'm sorry," he laughs, reaching out to give her a platonic hug. "I was just…taken aback, I guess. I mean, where's Emma?"

"_Oh_," Holly says, giving him an odd look. "Emma had a little 'accident'," she says, air-quoting the last word. "Seems Jacob Ben Israel ate an egg salad sandwich for lunch today."

"What does that have to do with Emma?"

"It was a three-day-old sandwich, wasn't really made to be digested, you know?" she tells him, sitting back down. "He threw up. On her."

"Oh," Will says, sitting down in the seat opposite her. "That's too bad. I was hoping she could help me…with the Glee kids."

"Yeah, about that," Holly starts, stroking her chin thoughtfully. "Your kids…they're…how do I say this?"

Will grins sheepishly. "Yeah, they're pretty amazing aren't they? Just today, Quinn and Rachel did this awesome duet in-"

"Weird," Holly finishes, smiling brightly.

Will's face falls. "Excuse me?"

"Maybe weird isn't the right word, but, well, some of them came in to see me today and…yeah, no. Weird works."

"_Miss Holiday, is it okay that whenever you see your best friend the song 'Kiss Me' starts playing in your head?"_

"_I think I'm turning into a chick."_

"_Everybody annoys me. _Everybody. _Except for the one person I want to annoy me. Does this mean I'm a sociopath?"_

"_Like, it's totally okay to have feelings and just never act on them, right? I mean, I'm not going to develop a split-personality or something."_

Will sits back heavily in his chair. "Whoa."

"I told ya'," Holly nods. "Weird."

"Well, what do you think I should do?"

***o*O*o***

Last class before Glee definitely sucks.

Even more so when the teacher goes A.W.O.L.

Puck shifts uncomfortably, still trying to carve his initials into his desktop, not even flinching when Mercedes leans over and pokes him on the shoulder.

"Stop that," she admonishes, slapping his hand away. "Where's Mrs. Jamison?"

"I don't know," he grumbles out, annoyed before smirking. "Probably somewhere getting her pipes cleaned out. Bet it's been a while," he grins, looking to her and then to Quinn before finding his amusement is not shared. "Whatever. Five more minutes and then I'm out of this crap shack."

_What even _is_ this day?_

_Here I am, sandwiched in between two pretty damn hot girls and my focus is on the two other hot girls in front of me that are patiently avoiding one another's eyes._

_I mean, I'm Puck, man! The. Puck._

_By right as a self-proclaimed sex shark I should be flirting up a storm and taking turns chatting each of them up until the words SEX PARTY are scrolling across their brains._

_Instead, I'm here, twiddling my pencil because Brittany's frowning every time Santana does anything, and Santana is sitting so still that twice I thought she'd stopped breathing._

_Oh, well, I'm not _completely_ gone because in order to notice that I had to have been staring at her rack pretty hard._

_But, _man_, what is wrong with me?_

_I' m a bad ass._

Puck snatches Quinn's notebook off her desk and throws it on the floor.

_Much better._

"Pick that up you…dummy head!"

Puck snorts. "Where'd you get that from? The playground?"

"You're a jerk," Quinn grumbles, picking it up herself and, in spite of himself, Puck actually feels bad.

What the _hell_ is going on?

"So I'm just going to ask you guys," Mercedes starts, leaning over so that they can both hear her. "Since you guys are her friends and all."

"Whose friend?" Quinn asks.

"Santana," Mercedes answers, giving her a 'duh' look. "What is going on with her and Brittany?"

Quinn's eyes widen and she looks at Puck, daring him to open his mouth. "Nothing's going on."

"C'mon, guys," Mercedes grins, not accepting that for one moment. "I've seen the way they look at each other. There's something there."

"I…" Quinn starts, darting her eyes to the two girls still completely unaware of their conversation. "…have no idea what you're talking about."

Mercedes focuses her attention on Puck, who, due to Quinn's not-so-subtle pinch on his thigh, has remained mostly quiet. "What about you, Puck?"

He grins knowingly.

This is his moment.

The moment where he can step up like the old Puck and put Brittany and Santana on blast and own the 'jerk' title he so badly wants to maintain.

Here is where he can damage, no, _destroy_ the reputation of the girl that dropped him like a dumbbell freshman year, leaving him to stave off rumors of sexual ineptitude for three months.

However, when he opens his mouth, the words "I don't know anything" tumble out before he can stop them.

Mercedes, obviously annoyed, just rolls her eyes with a quiet "Mmm hmm", turning back to face forward.

He just sits there dumbfounded, wondering just where his inner 'bad boy' took off to.

And if that bastard is ever coming back.

***o*O*o***

"Hey guys," Ms. Holiday grins, strutting into the music room. "Did you miss me?"

Everyone hoots and hollers as she goes around high-fiving everyone while Will scribbles on the white board.

"What are you writing, Mr. Schue?" Finn asks, eyeing the board with interest.

"I know," Brittany says, raising her hand. "Secrets."

"Very good, Brittany," Will says, capping the dry-erase marker. "Our next assignment is entitled secrets."

"Now, who can tell us what a secret is?" Holly asks, smiling kindly when Brittany's hand shoots up in the air again. "Go ahead Blondie."

"A secret is something that you know and no one else knows. Like, I know that Santana only likes-"

"Britt!" Santana shouts out from the other side of the room, eyes wide. There is a wide array of things about Santana that only Brittany knows.

Most of which are not exactly classroom material.

"What?" Brittany shrugs aloofly. "I was only gonna say that you only like blueberry pancakes on Sundays."

Santana smiles unintentionally, settling back into her chair with a great sigh of relief.

"O…kay," Holly says, sharing an amused look with Will. "But you're absolutely right, Blondie. That right there is the definition of a secret. Now, some secrets are good. Like, I'll never tell my dad when I _actually_ lost my virginity," she laughs. "Who knew you could even do that in the back of a Datsun?"

Will clears his throat loudly and Holly moves on. "Oh, right. So, yeah, telling him about the sex in the back of a clown car might kill him. So, good secret. But, some secrets are bad; Like being someone's alibi just because you think you 'love' them," she says, her face twisting up. "But, seriously, how was I supposed to know that he _stole_ the clown car? I was like, twelve."

"What Ms. Holiday is trying to say," Will smoothly intervenes, "…is some secrets can be detrimental to your well-being. Such as not letting someone know how you _really_ feel about them. Or, being true to yourself," he says gently, connecting eyes with everyone in the club. "And, since we are a group of some sort, when one of us is hurting, it hurts us all. So, here's the assignment: From now on, no more secrets. I want everything going on with us out in the open. Pick a song, any song that you're connecting with. A song that reveals that thing you're keeping secret and perform it."

"Now, Will doesn't mean to scare you," Holly speaks up again, noting some of the extremely distressed looks directed their way. "We're not going to make you get up in front of the entire club and spill your guts."

"We're not?" Will asks.

"No. In fact, if anyone is really uncomfortable, you can just perform for just Will and I. We just think you kids need to get some stuff off of your tiny little chests," Holly says, smiling warmly. "As soon as you get it out there, you'll feel better. You'll perform better. And, most importantly, you'll stick it to Vocal Adrenaline at Regionals."


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: **Don't own. Just borrowing.

**Author's Note: **Hi everyone. So, it has been a long while. I know this. And yes the excuse is still the same, life, life, and more life. I wish I could get paid for doing this. It would make a whole lot of things so much easier. Anyway, I'm still Beta-less so all mistakes are owned by me – which also means I lost a good portion of this when I'd inadvertently forgotten to save it so I apologize if it doesn't flow as I hoped it would. Anyway, bygones. Let me know what you guys' think. Reviews equal love (or, you know, hate).

* * *

"So, explain this assignment to me one more time?" Blaine asks, snapping a pretzel stick in two.

He, Kurt, Benjamin, Mercedes, and Colin were all at Benjamin's house just hanging out and enjoying one another's company.

Actually, they had planned on going on a double date but since Colin tagged along with Benjamin, there plans for the evening had been scrapped.

Not that Blaine was bitter about that or anything.

"Basically, Mr. Schue wants us to all sing a song about some secret we're keeping," Mercedes explains, looking on as Colin and Ben play basketball on the driveway.

Blaine laughs, raising an impressed brow. "I have to hand it to that man. He definitely wants to get into you guys' heads."

"But I don't have any secrets," Mercedes says. "Except that I digs my boo like a shovel but everyone knows that."

"Aww," Blaine gushes, clasping his hands together. "That's so sweet. Isn't that sweet Kurt?" he asks his boyfriend. His boyfriend who's currently engrossed in watching a sport he doesn't know anything nor cares to know anything about. "Kurt?"

"Hmm?" Kurt finally acknowledges Blaine, turning back to him. "Right, right. We all know about Mercedes' boo. I think Mr. Schue is just saying that everyone has a secret and anyone who says they don't is more than likely hiding it from themselves."

"There are some truths we don't face in the light," Colin adds, halting the game momentarily.

"Very well put, Colin," Kurt smiles, impressed.

"Brains and brawn," Colin jokes, dodging an attempted steal by Benjamin and going in for an easy layup.

"Man," Ben complains weakly, not really caring, "Do you have to make me look bad in front of my girl?"

"Never baby!" Mercedes says, smiling at him cutely.

Benjamin nods at her, moving closer to Colin so that the others won't hear what he's about to say. "Or are you trying to look good in front of someone else?" he whispers pointedly.

"What?" Colin snorts, shrugging him off. "No way, dude."

"Maybe you should try to do the assignment, too," Benjamin jests, tapping the basketball out of Colin's prone hands.

***o*O*o***

Sam sighs calmly, still stretched out on Rachel's bed. "I would've had the perfect song for this assignment about a week ago."

He plucks out the first strains of All-American Rejects' _Dirty Little Secret_ on his guitar, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively at Rachel.

Rachel bites back a smile, still sifting through pages of sheet music. "Well, you would be wrong because I am most certainly not dirty and while my stature is not necessarily anything to brag about, I can assure you that in a national poll I would be considered average height."

"For the registry of dwarfs, maybe."

The girl huffs indignantly, smacking him on the arm before gesturing to the papers again. "We have work to do."

"_Rachel_," Sam puffs out, sitting up suddenly. "When is the last time you had fun?"

Rachel's face screws up. "Fun?"

"Yeah, fun. F-U-N." The boy rolls his eyes dramatically.

"I have fun all the time," she snipes back. "This," she says, shuffling the music in hand, "is fun."

"It can be," Sam smirks, leaning in close. "In the proper venue."

She sees something in his eyes that is all at once exhilarating and completely frightening. The only other time she remembers feeling like this is when she was fooling around with Puck.

"I don't think I like where this is going."

"Come on," he whispers, pulling her from the bed promptly.

***o*O*o***

"This is weird," Brittany says suddenly, breaking the silence. "There's like a snuffleupagus in the room."

Santana's so on edge that she doesn't even catch the Brittany-ism.

What is _wrong_ with them?

Ever since that awkward break-up with Artie and the events that followed their friendship had been…strained, to put it mildly and their hang-out time had been severely curtailed.

It wasn't for a lack of Brittany trying though. It's just that every time she asked, Santana was busy polishing the afghans or something, and, while Brittany's not even sure what afghans _are_, she knows that Santana's lying because Santana doesn't do housework.

It's, like, against her culture or something. Or it's racist.

Brittany can't remember.

The point is, this is the first night in forever they're hanging out as BFFs and they're acting more like strangers.

"What?" Santana asks.

"You know," Brittany explains. "When it's all anxious and tense people say there's a snuffleupagus in the room."

"First of all, it's elephant; there's an elephant in the room. And second, Snuffy is not an elephant. He's a snuffleupagus."

"I thought they were the same," Brittany mumbles, eyes downcast. "Besides, what's it matter? I thought the point was the thing in the room is so big it's stupid to ignore it."

Santana doesn't say anything to that, content to continue fingering the notches on Brittany's bed and smack on her gum.

"Are Bert and Ernie gay?"

Santana almost chomps off her tongue. "What?"

"I always wonder because they've been roommates for a very long time and Mike said it didn't matter because look at Chandler and Joey, but then, Joey had girls over all the time and Chandler…well, let's face it, Chandler was a little iffy until he hooked up with Monica."

Brittany's got on her concentrated face as she explains her theory and Santana can't help the grin that forms as the other girl rambles on and on. "…Ernie's never been on a date and Bert's got that obsession with pigeons and pigeons have got to be the gayest birds ever. Maybe second to peacocks because they're pretty gay too," Brittany says, finally focusing on Santana's face and the beaming smile aimed directly at her. "What?" she asks, ducking her head shyly.

Santana laughs, unfettered and true, shaking her head slightly before bringing her shoulders up in a slow shrug. "I missed you."

"But," Brittany frowns, "I haven't gone anywhere."

"It felt like it," Santana admits quietly, not able to look Brittany in the eye.

"San," Brittany whispers, scooting so that she's sitting right in front of her friend. "You're my best friend," she says, wide smile and shimmering eyes in place as she pulls Santana in for a hug.

Santana breathes out a "Me too," closing her eyes tightly and holding on to Brittany like she's afraid the other girl will just float away.

Brittany hugs her back for a few moments, only loosening her grip when Santana does. She holds up her pinky and Santana smiles warmly before linking it with her own.

"So…" Brittany starts, far too casual-sounding for Brittany and Santana prepares for the worst. "Is Colin your new boyfriend?"

She doesn't really understand why Santana bursts out laughing though.

***o*O*o***

"Artie, hey," Tina says, striding up alongside the boy. "What an unexpected surprise running into you here."

"I guess so," Artie shrugs, adjusting his glasses. "I mean, we are at the library and not to sound too Sylvester-esque but I'd totally expect to find the nerd and the Asian girl at the library."

_Okay._

_So, this was more than mere coincidence._

_I've been wanting to talk to Artie ever since that kiss we shared in the choir room._

_And then again after he and Brittany officially broke up._

_But, it's been hard to get him alone in school because, well, he is wicked fast on that wheelchair, and, I have to admit that I'm a little bit guarded about going after him so soon. _

_Especially since I know that Brittany knows about the kiss._

_Still, I can't help wondering if maybe, just maybe, he and I can become an "us" again._

"You always had a knack for the very literal Artie," Tina sighs, smiling cutely. "It never failed to astound me."

Artie frowns. "Is that a compliment?"

Tina shrugs. "Depends on how you take it."

He grins crookedly, turning back to his stacks of books. "So," the girl starts, wanting to clear the air. They haven't ever clarified what that kiss was all about. "I've been meaning to talk with you."

"Me too," he says, putting the book down. "It's about...what happened between us."

"The kiss," Tina readily supplies and he reddens a little.

"Yes," he says, clearing his throat and glancing around nervously. "About that."

Tina just smiles, finding it all unbelievably adorable. "Well, go on."

"Well..." Artie starts, tugging on his suspenders. "The thing is...you see...I don't think it should happen again."

Tina's smile fades. "What?"

"Brittany really means a lot to me, Tina. And, I hurt her real bad. And I know it's stupid and cliché but you really don't know what you have until it's gone. I guess what I'm trying to say is, I want Brittany back."

If Tina's taken aback, she doesn't really show it, however, if you _really _took the time to look at her you can see her disappointment in the small slump of her shoulders or the way her eyebrows knit ever so slightly.

But Artie's never been one to pay much attention to the details so he just rambles on and on about Brittany and how to win her back.

"Well, Artie," Tina interrupts. "I'm going to try to put this as delicately as possible…You're a sucky boyfriend."

Artie's jaw drops. "What?"

"I mean, you're really sweet and all, when you want to be," she rushes to say, taking in his crestfallen face. "But, other times, you're a chauvinistic caveman with antiquated ideals of how men and women should treat one another – which seems kind of absurd considering how your mom's the breadwinner for your household, but, yeah, you need a _lot_ of work."

"I'm willing to do anything, Tina. _Anything_," he says, his face suddenly taking on a sheepish, pleading look. "And I was hoping maybe you could help me," he adds in a small voice.

Tina's face drops. "Oh, Artie. I don't know," she says hesitantly.

"Please, Tina. You know Brittany and you're kind of my main girl since Mercedes is all shagged up and Mike's been weirdly absent too and Finn-"

"Don't use Finn," Tina interrupts, strongly. "Just don't."

"Well," Artie shrugs, nodding slightly. "You see what I mean?"

Now, Tina's not a bitch.

Usually that title is given to Santana (publically) and Quinn (privately) and even sometimes Brittany (inadvertently), but Tina's always been the quiet girl who gets along with everyone.

She doesn't do anything with malicious intent but…right now, she can feel the inner evil inside her growing.

And she likes it.

"Sure Artie," she agrees with a grin. "I'll help you."

***o*O*o***

"You've…redecorated," Quinn says taking in the ambiance.

Lava lamps cover pretty much every inch of shelf space and a poster sporting the slogan, "No joke. Take a toke," takes up a predominant amount of the wall space.

Holly smiles at Quinn from the opposite bean bag chair. "Had to Baby Girl. I kept falling asleep at the desk. Plus, it feels a little warmer in here now, don't you think?"

"But, I mean, how long is Mrs. Pilsbury-Howell going to be gone for?"

"A month," Holly shrugs, "Maybe more. So, Miss Fabray, what brings you into the dungeon today?"

Quinn blanches slightly, sitting up as straight as anyone possibly can on a bean bag chair. "The assignment. The secrets one? I'm having a…hard time with it."

"Oh?"

Quinn nods. "You see, last year was a pretty difficult year for me."

"You mean baby-gate?"

"How did you-"

Ms. Holiday waves her hand to cut her off. "Everyone within a fifty mile radius knows about that. That Jacob kid is, like, scary connected."

"Well, there was that, getting kicked off Cheerios, getting kicked out of my home, and them the…the adoption," Quinn lowers her eyes momentarily. "And now I'm with Finn again and he's great and I'm home with my mom again and, well, I'm still off the Cheerios but it was my choice this time, it's just…I should be ecstatic with my life right now."

"So, why aren't you?" Holly prompts gently and Quinn only shrugs.

"I don't know. I thought that you could maybe tell me."

"Look Baby Girl, I can't tell you how you feel; only you know that. And I can't help you until you do a little digging on the inside. Because, guess what? You know exactly what's bothering you, but until you reach that point, any of my advice won't do you any good."

"What if I need help getting to that point?"

"You know, whenever I need to do some soul-searching I light up. No lie," Ms. Holiday says. "Trust me, you have to be high to willingly eat Taco Bell. But, since I'm not supposed to encourage drug use, recreational or otherwise, I guess we can do this the Disney way. I mean, not Disney, not Disney, don't sue. We can do this the _Glee_ way."

Quinn just raises an eyebrow as Ms. Holiday pops up, heading over to her iHome and scrolling through her iPod's reel, real quick. "Ah, here we go."

So, yeah, it's a little bit strange to be sitting on a bean bag chair while your "teacher" – if you could really call her that – rocks out like she's at an actual Sheryl Crow concert, but, she can't say that the enthusiasm isn't at least a little bit contagious.

_I've been long, a long way from here  
Put on a poncho, played for mosquitoes,  
And drank 'til I was thirsty again  
We went searching through thrift store jungles  
Found Geronimo's rifle, Marilyn's shampoo  
And Benny Goodman's corset and pen_

_If it makes you happy  
It can't be that bad  
If it makes you happy  
Then why the hell are you so sad_

Quinn's still whipping her head around when the guitar chords die out and Ms. Holiday, spent from all her dancing, plops back down on the bean bag chair.

"Listen to that a few times and you'll be all set, Baby Girl."

"Thanks," Quinn grins, pushing her headband back over her hair. "I think I already am."

***o*O*o***

Rachel's walking alongside Sam, arm hooked through his, to some…place. Actually, she's still not exactly sure _where_ they're going.

They do look very domestic, however, so Rachel ratchets it up a bit, placing her head on his forearm.

Yeah, she can't reach his shoulder.

"Samuel, where did you say you are taking me again?" she asks sweetly.

"Nice try," Sam says wryly. "I'm not telling you. Man, don't you like surprises? Most girls do."

"Well, I'm not like most girls."

Sam grins, turning to look at her. "You're definitely right about that."

Rachel's eyes warm, staring steadily into his and they both slow their gaits momentarily.

A car honks loudly as it rolls by, jostling them both and Rachel's cheeks tinge pink as she looks away; Sam clears his throat loudly.

"Hey, isn't that Mike?" he asks, squinting in the other direction.

Rachel follows his eyes and, sure enough, there's Mike Chang boogieing down the boardwalk.

***o*O*o***

"You are crazy talented," Sunshine tells him, tugging on the tassels of her scarf.

Mike stops popping and locking long enough to blush and scuff his shoe against the concrete. "Thanks," he mumbles out.

She's on her tiptoes, reaching for his cheek when-

"Mike!"

Sunshine squeaks when Mike hurriedly pushes her into a darkened alleyway, spinning on his heels just in time to see Sam and Rachel approaching.

"What's up bro?" Sam greets enthusiastically. "I thought that was you."

"Yep," Mike says, leaning against the wall to block the commotion behind him. "It's me."

"What are you up to?" Sam asks.

"We're having fun," Rachel whispers conspiratorially tossing a teasing look in Sam's direction.

"Uh," Mike stutters, looking around anxiously. "Just...hanging out and doing...stuff."

"Well, cool," Sam shrugs, not the least bit concerned. Rachel's eyes narrow in suspicion though. "You wanna join me and Rachel?"

"Uh...you know...I actually have TaeKwonDojo Church tonight. I can't miss it or my mom...pissed."

"Oh-oh yeah, sure. No big," Sam dismisses. "We'll see you in school, then."

"Okay," Mike smiles/breathes, body nearly sagging with relief. "Yeah. See you tomorrow."

Mike holds position until they walk away, smiling widely whenever Rachel turns to look at him. Finally, they turn into the bowling zone and Mike ducks back to the alley.

"Sunshine?" he calls out timidly, not realizing the girl in question is now standing right behind him, peeling an old banana off her face.

"What. The hell. Was that?" she asks, her thick accent making her voice sound even more agitated.

"Would you believe I have muscle tourette's?" he asks sheepishly.

"Michael. This is getting old very quickly. Why do you not want anyone to know about us?"

"Hello," Michael explodes comically. "You're on Vocal Adrenalin. You're the star of the club that all my friends can't stand. It's not like they'll welcome this news with open arms."

"Give them a chance, Mike," Sunshine says, threading their fingers together. "What's the worst that can happen?"

***o*O*o***

_So maybe I'm a little bit crazy._

_I pretend to hate one of my closest friends. _

_I can't stand the one person who's been nothing but kind to me. _

_The guy I'm dating is a nice guy - just like he was before I cheated on him before, and yet, I still don't feel about him the way I feel about the dough head who's nothing but bad news. _

_Finn is, well, when he's not being incredibly dumb, incredibly sweet._

_And he's got a future and he genuinely cares about me. _

_But..._

_Every time I see Puck, I see the guy who stole people's lunch money for a week so that I'd have an endless supply of bacon when I was pregnant. _

_Or they guy who'll do things like push Jacob into a door to hold it open for me. _

_Or, the guy who serenaded Beth to sleep. _

_It's nuts, I know, because Puck is...Puck. He thinks his nickname is actually cool and yet..._sigh_._

_See?_

_Crazy._

"Ahem."

Quinn was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she didn't notice Finn sitting on her porch until he was standing about two feet away from her - and Finn is pretty hard to miss so those were some massive thoughts.

"Hey," she says.

"Hey," Finn returns with a smile.

"What are you doing here?" she asks and Finn grins before pulling a daisy from behind his back.

"Happy Anniversary."

Quinn takes the flower from him, looking confused. "What?"

"Well, I was talking to Kurt...and Blaine, I mean it's cool or whatever. Guys can talk about relationship stuff too, you know, and he was telling me, Kurt that is, that sometimes I'm not very attentive to my girlfriend and maybe that's why they were always cheating on me," Finn says. Then, after realizing how that must've sounded. "Not to guilt you or anything. I don't care about that. Okay, that's not true. Of _course_ I don't _want_ you to cheat on me. That would suck. Hang on, what was I saying?"

"You were talking to Kurt," Quinn prompts.

"Right. So, yeah. The message was pay more attention to your girlfriend. So, here I am. Being attentive," Finn grins, stuffing his now empty hands into his pockets. "Also, I set up a little picnic. It's nothing fancy because you know I can't use the stove after I burned my left eyebrow off, but I made grilled cheese sandwiches. And I used the organic cheese 'cause I know how you are about that stuff."

Quinn peeks past him at the set-up: sandwiches, store-bought pasta salad, and, he thinks, sparkling grape juice.

"Finn," she says, letting her fingers twirl the daisy across her cheek. "Finn. This was really sweet."

"I'm trying, Quinn," the boy says, taking the daisy and settling it into her hair. "I'm really trying to do things right this time."

Quinn leans up and kisses him, one hand settled warmly against his cheek.

Finn starts to sing along to REO Speedwagon's "Keep On Loving You".

She might be crazy but tonight, her head's going to beat out her heart.

***o*O*o***

"Give it back, you little..." Santana grunts out, tugging in earnest.

"San, just let him have it."

"No way, B. It's mine," she grits out.

Lord Tubbington lets out a low warning tone.

"He's getting angry," Brittany cautions absently, still studiously applying polish to her toe nails. "You know what happens when he gets angry."

Santana huffs indignantly, reluctantly letting go off her _own_ t-shirt.

She did _not_ want to have to disinfect cat scratches or wake up with a cat's butt in her face.

"What am I gonna sleep in then, Britt?"

"Just grab one of my shirts. It's what we always do."

Santana shrugs, turning to Brittany's dresser and burrowing through one of the drawers. "I didn't want to assume."

"Assume what? That I would let you wear my clothes? Half of the shirts in there are yours anyway, silly."

"I know," Santana says, pulling out the yellow pineapple crush tee. "I'm being weird."

"Yes, you are," Brittany agrees, capping the polish after applying the last stroke. "But that's okay, San. I still love you." She stretches out her legs and wiggles her toes. "Like my nails?"

Santana inspects the polished toes, thoroughly impressed. "I have no idea how you're so good at this. You can hardly concentrate on brushing your teeth long enough to do it right."

"Well, if they made toothpaste different colors," Brittany responds, flopping back against the bed and patting it invitingly. "Hurry up and change, Santana. I need my favorite pillow."

Santana flushes deeply, clutching the t-shirt and shirt in her hand a little tighter. "Okay. I'll be right back."

_That_ gets Brittany sitting up again. "Where are you going? You can change right here."

"I don't," Santana starts, swallowing thickly. "I don't know if that's such a good idea."

"Well, why not?" Brittany grins, hopping up out of bed and slowly making her way toward Santana. "It's not like it's nothing I've never seen before."

Santana's got her lower lip trapped between her teeth and it's suddenly stifling in Brittany's room, even though her bedroom window is wide open and she can see the curtain billowing in the breeze.

And Brittany's just moving closer and closer...

_*Let's get loud, let's get loud; Turn the music up to hear that sound*_

Brittany groans and Santana swings her body into motion, grabbing her cell phone and taking a much needed breath.

_Watchu doing? Can I come over?_

_Can't. Sleepover Britt's._

_Gay. Lol. Hasta luego, then._

Brittany watches Santana in the mirror, marveling over the myriad of emotions that flit across her face.

"Colin?" she asks.

Santana sighs. "Yeah."

Brittany's lips quirk up into a smile. "What does your boyfriend want now?" She jokes, intending to lighten the mood.

"I'm gonna go change," Santana says, pocketing her phone and leaving Brittany's room without another word.

Lord Tubbington purrs loudly, snuggling his chubby face into Santana's shirt.

"Aww," Brittany coos, bending to pet the cat on the head. "You missed San, too, didn't you? Don't worry. One of these days maybe she won't be so afraid anymore."

***o*O*o***

"Here's a secret for you," Sam says, standing right across from Rachel.

"What's that?" she asks.

"I've always wanted to do a duet with you."

Pete, one of the bowling alley employees, coughs into the microphone to test it, cigarette still hanging off of his lip. "Okay, you lane dwellers. We've got a special treat for you tonight; two of Lima's very own are gonna provide us with a little entertainment."

Sam taps a finger against the microphone.

"Testing...1, 2. Okay, well everyone should know this song. It's a classic. So, without further delay, Rachel."

Rachel hits play on the karaoke machine and Sam turns his baseball cap all the way to the back, grabbing his microphone and singing the words as they pop up on the screen behind him.

_"So she said what's the problem baby  
What's the problem I don't know  
Well maybe I'm in love (love)  
Think about it every time  
I think about it  
Can't stop thinking 'bout it_

How much longer will it take to cure this  
Just to cure it 'cause I can't ignore it if it's love (love)  
Makes me wanna turn around and face me but I don't know nothing 'bout love…"

The people around them couldn't be less interested if they tried, but Rachel can't help the way her lips turn up just a little bit higher when Sam's bright eyes focus on hers, singing along to the machine.

"_Come on, come on  
Turn a little faster  
Come on, come on  
The world will follow after  
Come on, come on  
Cause everybody's after love…"_

Sam covers the live mic with his hand. "You want to take the second verse?"

Rachel blanches. "I...don't know the words," she says, eyes widening.

"That's what makes it fun," Sam yells over the music, pushing her in front of the microphone and moving to stand to the side of her. "Just read with rhythm," he grins, nodding at the big flat screen bolted above them.

"_So I said I'm a snowball running  
Running down into the spring that's coming all this love  
Melting under blue skies  
Belting out sunlight  
Shimmering love_

Well baby I surrender  
To the strawberry ice cream  
Never ever ever all this love  
Well I didn't mean to do it  
But there's no escaping your love,"

Sam moves a little closer to her, dancing goofily along to the lyrics and Rachel fights off a laugh when he wraps his arms around her, still trying to read the lyrics and follow along to the tempo.

"_Come on, come on  
Jump a little higher  
Come on, come on  
If you feel a little lighter  
Come on, come on  
We were once  
Upon a time in love…_

Sam turns to Rachel, catching her eye and singing the line of the song that, very suddenly, seems a lot weightier than it should be.

_We're accidentally in love _

_Accidentally in love _

_Accidentally in love…"_

By song's end, no one's still not really interested and Rachel and Sam get a few smatterings of single hand claps when they wrap up with overly enthusiastic bow before running of the stage.

Rachel jumps down and when Sam follows, she throws her arms around his neck, squealing in excitement. "That was…_exhilarating_."

Sam chuckles, hugging her back. "So, you enjoyed it?"

"Yes," she nearly screeches, pulling back and sounding breathless and full of wonder. "Usually I'm so prepared and organized and rehearsed but that was…"

"I'm glad you had fun," Sam grins genuinely. "You wanna go again?"

"Oh my God, are you kidding me?" Rachel says, face changing. "That was terrifying. I'm never doing it again," she informs him, brushing her hair back in place. Her face softens. "But, thank you, Samuel. It was a really lovely song."

Something in the air changes and the song selection seems to come back to them, thickening the air around them. Sam shakes his head, suddenly bashful. "I can't believe you don't know the _Counting Crows_. That's like treason or something," he says, shifting directions and holding out his hand for Rachel to take.

"I know _of_ them at least. I bet you have no idea who Patti Lupone is," Rachel prompts, tilting her chin and following him out of the bowling alley.

Sam's face screws up in thought, holding the door open for Rachel. "Didn't she sing Lady Marmalade?"

Rachel laughs. "Point proven."

"You never even established a point."

***o*O*o***

"Are you comfortable?"

Now, there are two answers to that question.

The first is, of course she's comfortable. She's lying in a bed in a house that's almost more like home than her own, with a girl she's known for the better part of her existence curled around her like a body-shaped security blanket.

There's no reason for her to feel not at ease.

And yet, she can feel a tightening in her stomach when Brittany's breath ghosts across her collarbone, and her skin is on fire at every place their bodies meet, and, well, she still can't believe she let the cat actually _keep_ her shirt.

She should feel comfortable but, she's not…not really.

And that really sucks.

"San?"

"Just…go to sleep Britt?"

Brittany pushes herself up slightly, looking down unblinking at Santana's face, eyes tracing over every feature. "You're like the most beautiful girl I've ever seen, Santana."

Santana flushes instantly, ducking her head shyly even as she smiles genuinely. "Thanks Britt-Britt."

Before she can move, or really have any say in the matter, Brittany's face descends fast, lips dropping right at the corner of Santana's mouth in a soft, chaste kiss.

Brittany smiles, curling up against Santana again. "G'night, Santana," she murmurs, smiling slightly when she feels the other girl's body finally relax.

"Santana's hand finds Brittany's under the covers and grasps it tight. "'Night, Brittany."

* * *

**Songs used in this chapter are:**

_If It Makes You Happy_ by Sheryl Crow

_Accidentally In Love_ by Counting Crows


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer:** Don't own. Just borrowing.

**Author's Note:** Wow, so, yeah, been away from this in a while. Not really, it's just like that ex you have that sends you a text every month or so. You guys know what I'm talking about? No? Well, anyway, I apologize for the wait (for whoever is still reading). Just know that I have every intention of finishing this. So thanks for sticking around, reading and reviewing. Thanks to my beta for looking this over for me as well.

* * *

"Alright, now that we're all here," Will says, plunking a few keys on the piano, "Who wants to go first?"

Santana takes a deep breath and raises her hand high in the sky, "I'd like to go Mr. Schue."

"Santana," he says, a bit taken aback. He manages a smile though, "This is a nice surprise. Go ahead."

Her cheerios uniform feels extra tight and Jesus was it extra hard to pry the thing out of Coach Sylvester's grip, but if she was going to do this, she needed this uniform to protect her from the fallout this exhibition was sure to create.

After all, it's not every day that you go proclaiming your undying love for your best friend.

_Oh __dear __God_, she thinks, rolling her eyes. _Shoot __me __now._

"Um," she uncharacteristically stammers, turning to stand in front of them all. Most of them look disinterested at best, but she has Rachel's attention and Quinn's and…Puck's oddly enough. Though, he is kinda staring at her boobs.

What a dog.

"Whenever you're ready, Santana," Will prompts, sliding into the seat next to Brittany.

"Right," she nods, swallowing against a suddenly dry throat. "So, the assignment was to find a song that reflected some secret or something or was about secrets – Schue you weren't really clear on that – and after giving it a lot of thought, this is what I've come up with," she manages to say, her voice clipped.

"Hit it," she tells Brad, the piano guy.

The song is familiar to her for sure, after having debated to death over the last two days whether or not to actually go through with it, but as her eyes meet Brittany's – her best friend sitting in a choir chair halfway across the room – all the nausea-inducing deliberation seems like it's totally worth it.

_For you, there'll be no more crying,  
For you, the sun will be shining,  
And I feel that when I'm with you,  
It's alright, I know it's right_

_To you, I'll give the world_  
_to you, I'll never be cold_  
_'Cause I feel that when I'm with you,_  
_It's alright, I know it's right._

_And the songbirds are singing,_  
_Like they know the score,_

_And I love you, I love you, I love you,  
Like never before._

At some point during the song, everything drifts away, even the music, and all she can see is Brittany. Brittany's shining blue eyes and watery smile and the words just pour out of her, as genuine and as true as ever.

_And I love you, I love you, I love you,  
Like never before, like never before._

Brad plucks out the last few notes on the piano and Santana watches as Brittany's chin trembles, the girl slowly rising out of her seat, then-

"Gay," Puckerman says, rolling his eyes.

"Clearly," Will adds, grinning smugly, "Honestly Santana. Who knew? I always thought you were the school's bicycle."

"Well, she obviously can't be a lesbian because she's slept with guys," Kurt dismisses. "Wanting to be with women just makes her greedy."

"And unoriginal," Rachel adds, sniffing, "Lilo already came and went that route, Santana. And playing gay doesn't make you famous. It makes you a coke-head."

They're all closing in on her it seems, the walls of the choir room much closer than before.

"Wait," Quinn says, grabbing her arm roughly. "Have you been perving on me in the locker room all this time?"

"Dyke," Karofsky sneers, suddenly standing beside her, red slushy in hand.

He motions to the other members of the football team. "Hey look. It's a Queerio."

They're all laughing at her and pointing at her and the room in spinning and the slushies are being thrown and through it all she still can see Brittany standing there, unmoving and looking forlorn.

"Britt," she whispers brokenly, her voice cracking.

Brittany shrugs, looking sad. "Sorry, San. I'm bi-curious."

Santana's eyes pop open, her breaths still labored as the choir room slowly fades away into oblivion leaving behind the poster and picture covered walls of Brittany's bedroom.

Her best friend is currently snoring beside her. She's curled up against Santana, face buried in her neck, one hand gripping firmly at Santana's sleep shirt, the other tucked comfortably against her side.

She feels uncomfortable and hot and it's way too early – _late?_ – for her to be awake. She should just roll back over and go to sleep but doing that means slipping back into the nonsensical crazy nightmare she just had.

It's not like she's gay, okay?

It's not.

Sure, she and Brittany make out…and stuff, from time to time, but that's just because they're both super-sexual and it manifests itself like that every now and again.

And, sure, she loves Brittany but she's not, _definitely_ not, in love with her or anything. _That_ would be gay.

People in love do crazy stuff, like, go to war and stuff and buy flowers and they're both allergic so she'll never like, buy Brittany flowers. She might catch a grenade for her though.

Santana sighs, scooting back to look at Brittany's slumbering form.

She wishes she could just pinpoint when things got so damn complicated and she started having all these _feelings_.

But that would require admitting that there actually _are_feelings and Santana's not quite there yet.

These are things she can't even whisper about in the dark, let alone acknowledge in the light of day.

One thing she knows for sure though, there is no way she's doing Scheuster's assignment.

***o*O*o***

Finn rounds the corner, huffing a little more than usual.

There's a bite to the morning air and honestly, when Burt and Kurt had asked him to tag along on their morning jogs he wasn't really anticipating being the caboose in this exercise train.

And he's supposed to be the athlete.

"C'mon Finn. Get the molasses out of your butt," Burt says, passing him by.

Are they actually _lapping_ him?

This is ridiculous.

"What does that even mean?" Finn asks himself, trying to keep up pace as Kurt strides smoothly alongside him.

"It's old people speak, Finn. I'm pretty sure Dad doesn't think you actually have molasses in your butt."

"Oh," Finn states dumbly, smiling slightly. "Um, speaking of things in your butt…whoa, okay, that's a terrible segue and I should probably never say anything like that around you again-"

"Finn," Kurt laughs lightly, his eyebrows in the sky. "It's okay. Just, stop before you blush to death or something."

"Right. So, yeah, you know how I'm like totally over Rachel and could care less that she's dating Sam?"

Kurt checks his grin. "I…am familiar with this."

"Right, well, Mr. Schue gave us this secrets assignment and I really want to do good, you know, because, even though it's kind of lame and I still don't get the concept of jazz hands, I like Glee."

"Let me guess," Kurt starts, arching an eyebrow, "You want to sing some heartfelt ballad about Rachel and how much you need her grating yet uplifting presence in your life?"

Finn frowns. "What? No, dude. I just need a pep talk. Quinn's not good at those and usually Rachel's my go-to girl but, you know, she's not really _my_go-to girl anymore."

"Okay," Kurt nods, still jogging briskly along. "But, now you have me intrigued, if your secret isn't about Rachel, what is it about?"

Finn just smirks, quickening his pace. "In due time, Bro. In due time."

***o*O*o***

It took some finagling but Santana'd finally managed to separate herself from Brittany for the morning.

Not an easy task considering she was driving them both to school.

"C'mon Colin," she muttered, looking down at her cell phone and tapping her foot anxiously against the hard pavement.

She'd texted him like ten minutes ago and she only had another twenty or so before Brittany realized that it shouldn't take her that long to get a glass of orange juice.

Santana's stomach twists uncomfortably behind that one.

She should really stop taking advantage of Brittany's distractiveness.

Finally, Colin's truck turns down Brittany's street and she darts out onto the asphalt, flagging him down.

It must be the sheer panic she feels that grips her suddenly because instead of a greeting or anything normal like, you know, an insult, she almost shouts out,

"How did you know?"

Colin's mid-yawn, the passenger side window rolled down halfway, but his eyes widen as he catches on quickly. "Get in."

Santana's hands shake as they grip at the car door handle, "I just…I mean, I don't know why I'm asking-"

"Get in the car Lopez," Colin repeats, pushing open the door for her, "Just get in."

Colin eyes her as she climbs inside, arms crossing over her chest immediately. "I could say I've always known but that'd probably be a lie. I didn't always know what to call it. Or what it was. But, I always felt…different."

Santana stares straight ahead, just listening. "I mean, like, I liked girls or whatever. But as friends, you know? It wasn't until I was about twelve that I really knew something was off. All the guys would talk about hooking up with girls – which, half of them were lying their asses off, but that's something else entirely – and I would just never really care. Instead, I wondered want kind of underwear James Turco wore," Colin continues to say, his eyebrows bunching together. He looks over to an amused Santana, who looks like she's about to lose it.

"Whatever, okay," he says, playfully defensive, "You asked a question and I'm just answering it."

"No, no," Santana says, talking through her laughter, "Not judging. You may continue."

"No, this is stupid, okay?" Colin says, turning to face her dead on. Santana looks away.

"Everyone's different. So everyone's moment of clarity is going to be different. And like, sexuality isn't black and white either," he continues, voice growing softer. Colin's hand finds Santana's knee, "So…I mean, it's okay if you like girls-"

"Whoa, what?" Santana nearly yells, slapping his hand away, "Who said anything about me liking…me liking…"

"Girls?" Colin fills in.

"No one," he goes on to try to rectify the situation because Santana is in full panic mode. "No one said anything. I just assumed-"

"Well, don't make assumptions, buttboy. I didn't' assume you were giving it to that Benjamin kid even though you probably want to."

"Santana-"

"And I didn't assume that you wear argyle sweaters and pleated khakis all the time,"

"Okay, ouch. That's actually a really good combo but San-"

"So don't assume to know anything about me. You don't anything about me, okay, cabron," Santana says, pointing a finger directly at his nose, "You need to leave."

Colin raises an eyebrow. "San-"

"Leave!"

"I would but you're in my car," Colin rushes out before she yells at him or smack him. She looks really pissed.

"Ugh!" Santana yells in frustration, clamoring out of the car and slamming the door so hard that the glass window rattles in the frame.

Colin takes off without another word, leaving her to heave heavy breaths, trying to calm her rage.

"Was that Colin?" Brittany asks, suddenly beside her.

"Jeez, Britt," Santana says, placing a hand over her already thumping heart, "You scared me."

"Sorry," Brittany frowns, tugging on Santana's free wrist, "So…where's my orange juice?"

***o*O*o***

"Lopez-Pierce, what up?" Puck calls, waving obnoxiously, "You don't see us or something?"

Santana's totally not in the mood for this and it shows.

Brittany, on the other hand, just grins and drags a reluctant Santana over, "What is this?" she asks, bright eyes going around the table.

Tina, Puck, Artie, Quinn, Rachel, Sam, Mercedes and Finn are all sitting around a table in the quad, voluntarily and amicably.

"It's our first ever Pre-School Glee club meeting," Finn informs them and then frowns. "Well, not pre-school like toddlers but pre-school like before school-"

"Finn," Quinn cuts him off with a laugh, "I think they get it."

"Right, well. It's supposed to promote cohesion or something else that means teamwork. Plus, we've got breakfast," he adds, waving a hand at the table. "Although, I couldn't really afford anything but donuts and orange juice."

"That's sweet of you Finn," Brittany says, handing Santana a glazed donut.

Finn shrugs, looking shy.

"Hey, but aren't we missing somebody?" Mercedes mumbles around a mouthful of donut.

"There he is," Sam says, nodding toward the top of the stairs, "And hey, isn't that-"

"Kurt!" Tina yells, jumping to her feet.

***o*O*o***

"Okay," Mike says, turning to Kurt and Blaine, "Just like we rehearsed."

"Oh, this is so exciting," Kurt almost squeals, squeezing his hands together, "Spontaneous public performances I mean."

Blaine shrugs, setting the boombox down at the top of the stairs. "I'm good as long as it's not a department store."

"I'm nervous," Mike confesses, straightening out his shoulders.

"But, this has to be done. Hit it," he adds, gesturing to Blaine and the boy hits play, the speakers coming to life and the music seemingly floating across the quad.

Mike starts it off alone, belting out the first verse as soon as he slides down the handrail.

_Girl I got a secret  
See if you can guess  
Put your heart into the problem  
See if you can pass the test  
Can you see it?  
It's a natural occurrence  
One and one makes two  
If I've been acting crazy that's  
Just one more clue  
When I see you_

Mike's flanked on either side by Blaine and Kurt, still wearing their Dalton Prep uniforms. They're dancing and singing all around the quad but no one's really interested except the Glee kids.

_Oh, buildings start to shake  
Do a double take  
Didja get it yet,  
Get it yet  
Get it yet  
Oooh my secret  
Ooh sparks begin to fly  
Lightening in the sky  
Didja get it yet  
Get it yet  
Get it yet  
Get it yet  
My secret_

At the close of the song, Mike gestures behind them where Sunshine is standing shyly, and as the Glee kids turn to look at her she waves her fingers. "Hi guys."

Brittany frowns. "I don't get it."

***o*O*o***

"Brittany, pay attention," Mrs. Sharper says, tapping the board with a ruler.

"I am," Brittany replies, furrowing her eyebrows.

"Okay," the woman says, crossing her arms, "How do you determine the area of an isosceles triangle?"

Brittany shrugs, "How should I know? _Oh_, you meant pay attention to _you_?"

The class snickers and Mrs. Sharper just rolls her eyes, knowing when a battle is lost.

Actually, she's lucky Santana and Brittany don't share this period.

"So, how come you didn't tell me?" Brittany whispers again, poking Mike with her pencil.

"I didn't know how," Mike says, shrugging his shoulders with a shy grin, "It just sort of happened, you know? It's not like I planned it."

Brittany smiles, "You seem really happy."

"I am really happy," Mike assures her, bumping his shoulder against hers, "But…you're not. What's wrong?"

The light in Brittany's eyes dampens a little and her eyes dart away from his.

"Nothing," she answers, her voice incredibly small.

"I know you don't expect me to believe that Britt," he murmurs, tapping her pointer finger, "Let me guess; it's got something to do with Santana."

Brittany nods, "We had a wonderful time last night. It was our first sleepover in forever and I thought we were right back to being best friends and then…"

"And then?" Mike prompts.

"And then we went to the Lima Bean."

***o***

"_I think I want a grande double shot, San."_

"_I…don't think that's a good idea, Britt," Santana says, eyeing the menu, "You're already hyper enough as it is."_

_Brittany grabs Santana's arm and leans into her ear, "Please?" she pleads, grinning as soon as Santana laughs._

"_Oh my God, okay," the other girl chuckles, stepping up to the counter, "Can we have two grande-"_

"_Oh hey," the coffee barista interrupts, smiling kindly at Santana, "How are you?"_

_Santana turns confused eyes at the girl in front of her, "Um, do I know you?"_

"_Yeah, remember? The other night?" the girl prompts, tilting her head slightly, "You and your guy friend."_

"_Oh," Santana's eyes go extremely wide as realization sets in and she can feel her cheeks burning with the memory of this girl's fingers brushing against her skin. "Um…"_

"_This your girlfriend?"_

_Brittany grins, leaning further into Santana but her friend nearly pushes her a foot away. _

"_What?__" __she __laughs/chokes __out, __shaking __her __head.__ "__No. _No_. __Brittany__'__s __my __best __friend. __She__'__s __just__…__you __know, __a __close __friend. __We__'__re __not__…__that __thing __you __said.__"_

"_Okay," the coffee girl smiles, not thinking too much into it, "Not your girlfriend. Cool. So when are you gonna call me?"_

"_I'm not," Santana says, ignoring the blue eyes she can feel burning into the side of her face, "Can you just get me two grande double-shot-"_

"_Make that one," Brittany mumbles, turning away, "I'm not that thirsty anymore."_

***o***

"It's like she's playing red light, green light with my heart," Brittany concludes, pouting adorably.

Mike frowns, rubbing her hand.

"Maybe it's time for you to tell her how you feel?" he probes, easing into the subject.

"Well, yeah, that what my secrets performance is all about. I'm doing Justin Timberlake's "SexyBack". That song is like _made _for Santana and me," Brittany explains and Mike deserves all the awards for keeping a straight face.

"Totally," Mike agrees, nodding slightly, "But maybe you should try something a little…different."

"Like what?"

***o*O*o***

"Mr. Schue?"

Will looks up from his desk to where a very small looking Santana is standing in the doorway, "Santana. Hi."

She looks hesitant but eventually the girl crosses the threshold, her fingers toying with the zipper at the bottom of her jacket. "I was…um, I wanted to do my assignment."

"Okay," he nods, sitting attentively, waiting on her to continue.

"Could you like, I don't know, not look at me?" she asks him, feeling incredibly vulnerable. "It might help."

Will quirks an eyebrow but otherwise acquiesces, covering his eyes with the palms of his hands.

"Okay, so I don't have music or anything because I didn't want anything to take away from the lyrics," Santana rushes out, twisting her fingers together, "So, I know I can't threaten you or anything because…well, no, I totally can and I'll cry Pedo if this ever leaves this room, okay?"

"Santana," Will warns, frowning.

"Okay, fine. Here goes."

There's no music, no flashy bassline or piano keys, just her voice and the words she can't ever really say aloud, but with no one around – and the back of Will's vest the only indicator that someone's hearing her – Santana can't help but put everything she's feeling into the song.

_For __the __way __you __changed __my __plans  
For __being __the __perfect __distraction  
For __the __way __you __took __the __idea __that __I __had  
Of __everything __that __I __wanted __to __have  
And __made __me __see __there __was __something __missing, __oh __yeah_

_For_ _the __ending __of __my __first __begin  
And __for __the __rare __and __unexpected __friend  
For __the __way __you're __something __that __I'd __never __choose  
But __at __the __same __time, __something __I __don't __wanna __lose  
And __never __wanna __be __without __ever __again_

_You're_ _the __best __thing __I __never __knew __I __needed  
So __when __you __were __here __I __had __no __idea  
You're __the __best __thing __I __never __knew I__ needed  
So __now __it's __so __clear, __I __need __you __here __always_

_My accidental __happily  
Ever __after  
The __way __you __smile __and __how __you __comfort __me  
With __your __laughter  
I __must __admit __you __were __not __a __part __of __my __book  
But __now __if __you __open __it __up __and __take __a __look  
You're __the __beginning __and __the __end __of __every __chapter_

Will turns around when she gets to the second chorus but Santana's so into the song, what's she's _feeling, _that she doesn't even notice.

_Who __knew __that __I __could __be  
So __unexpectedly  
Undeniably __happier  
Sitting __with __you __right __here, __right __here __next __to __me  
Girl, __you're __the __best_

_You're_ _the __best __thing __I __never __knew __I __needed  
So __when __you __were __here __I __had __no __idea  
You're __the __best __thing __I __never __knew I__ needed  
So __now __it's __so __clear, __I __need __you __here __always_

Santana slowly blinks open her eyes and Will stands there gob smacked, literally blown away by the emotion of it all.

"Santana," he seemingly gasps out, letting out a airy yet unamused laugh, "That was-"

"Amazing," Holly interrupts from the open doorway.

Santana's and Will's eyes dart over to her and she steps inside, closing his office door behind her.

"I didn't mean to interrupt but I was walking by and…well, I heard you," Holly states carefully, seeing the vulnerability literally washing over the former cheerleader, "You really were amazing, Santana."

"I agree," Will finally manages to say, finally finding his voice again, "I always knew you were talented but what happened right there was magical, Santana."

Santana flushes under the praise, her eyes finding the floor and Holly looks to Will in question for a moment before carrying onward.

"And I think," Holly starts quietly, keeping her voice very still, "No, I _know_ that she'd love it if you sang it to her."

Santana's eyes snap up worriedly and she shakes her head back and forth quickly, arms flying up to cross against her chest.

Defensive Santana.

"I…I'm not singing that song to _anyone_."

"Okay," Will soothes, holding up his hands in passivity, "Maybe you could just sing it in Glee club."

Santana lets loose a humorless laugh, "Are you kidding me?"

"Santana, we accept everyone in Glee club. You know it doesn't matter whether you're white, black, fat, skinny, or…"

"Gay," Holly supplies with a dismissive shrug but Santana's eyes just darken.

"I'm not," she almost yells, but she pauses a moment to swallow down the massive lump in her throat.

"I'm not…_that_," she practically hisses, her eyes narrowed to slits. "This whole project is stupid anyway. As if anyone is going to reveal any secret that they actually care about _keeping_ a secret," she grumbles, the mask of indifference slipping firmly back onto her face as she throws her backpack back over her shoulder.

"I'm late for History."

"Damn that girl is _rooted_ in that closet," Holly mutters, after Santana's left. "I mean, has she taken a look at some of the clothes she's been wearing? Two words: Sweater. Vest."

"But I wear sweater vests," Will says, tilting his head in confusion and Holly just raises her eyebrows in response, sitting down in his abandoned office chair.

"I wish I knew how to help her," Will says, sounding anguished, "I hate seeing one of my kids hurting like that."

"You're doing the right thing," Holly assures him, spinning herself around, "You're listening to her, prodding with careful words of encouragement. And you've planted the seed. Now we just have to sit back and let it grow."

Will nods, mulling it over.

"Like a marijuana plant."

***o*O*o***

"Let's make this quick, Weezy," Santana says, breezing into the empty choir room with her eyes, "I've got next period with Britt and sometimes she faces the wrong way in class if I'm not there to…"

Her words slow to a stop as she takes notice of all the faces looking at her, Brittany's included, "What's going on?" she asks slowly, heart immediately starting to throb in fear.

"Girls' meeting," Rachel explains, crossing her legs primly, "Mercedes has a dilemma."

"Yeah," Mercedes nods, shifting uncomfortably in her chair, "I wanted to ask you guys how you knew you were ready to…you know," she prompts.

"Join the circus?" Brittany questions, tilting her eyebrows.

"I think she's talking about sex, Britt," Tina fills in, patting the blonde girl on the shoulder.

"Oh," Brittany says, eyes lighting up in realization, "Well, I knew I was ready at Janet Kruger's slumber party."

"Brittany," Quinn squawks, eyes widening, "We were like twelve."

Brittany nods, "I know."

"And there were only girls there."

Again Brittany nods, this time discreetly glancing at a silently contemplative Santana.

"I know," she says again, much softer. "I didn't say that I _did_ anything then, just that I knew I was ready then."

"Well, I didn't know anything," Quinn contributes, shrugging aloofly, "I was drunk."

"And I haven't ever done anything so…" Rachel trails off.

"But you thought you were ready with Jesse?" Mercedes hedges, twisting her fingers together, "Look, Benjamin's been hinting about it for a while and it's not like I'm completely against it because I do love him. I just don't know if I'm ready."

"Look, this is stupid, okay?" Santana finally speaks up, her fingers clutching tightly at the straps of her backpack, "None of us can tell you when you're ready to have sex because there's no great indicator of when you're finally ready to drop and spread 'em. It's different for everyone."

"Yeah," Brittany agrees, nodding succinctly.

"And when you _are_ ready and you're with the _right_ person…" her blue eyes flit over to Santana again, catching her eye and the dark-haired girl fights back a flush, "…you'll know."

***o*O*o***

"Alright guys," Mr. Schuester says, breezing into the choir room and settling everyone down, Ms. Holiday following closely behind, "I know everyone's uptight about the secrets assignment so I'm giving those of you who aren't prepared just yet an extension."

A few of the Glee clubbers sigh in relief, relaxing back against their hard plastic chairs.

"It's difficult to let others know things we've been keeping to ourselves for so long," Holly states, sitting in a chair adjacent to Will's. "Being that vulnerable is scary."

"But also very freeing," Will adds, taking off his vest, "For example, when I first got into hip-hop-"

"Mr. Schue," Puck interrupts, suddenly springing to attention.

"Yes Puck?"

"You're not going to rap again are you?"

Will grins. "I wasn't planning on it but if you'd-"

"Oh God," Puck groans. "Someone please go because I cannot handle another _8Mile_ impression. No offense Mr. Schue, but when you rap I think even Flava Flav cries."

"I can go," Brittany says, raising her hand, "I mean, I'm not afraid or anything."

"Okay Brittany," Will nods, moving across the room to sit with the kids, "You've got the floor. And, remember guys, we're here to listen, not judge."

Brittany takes a seat in his abandoned chair and without saying anything Puck, Finn, Sam and Mike join her, Puck taking the electric guitar and Sam taking the bass in the process. Finn goes to sit behind the drums.

"Um, so, I didn't know I was going to have so much help but okay," Brittany says looking to Mike as he shifts into a more comfortable position in his chair. "So, this has always been a favorite song of mine, even though it's kinda sad. But lately this is how I've been feeling so…" she trails off with a shrug, looking down for a moment as Puck starts to play.

_Words like love and happiness  
Never seem to stand up baby  
When you put them to the test, yeah  
You say that you're a poet  
That your life's a work of art  
But you can't play love by numbers baby  
You gotta play it all by heart_

_Baby, baby, baby, baby_  
_It happens all the time_  
_How you play me, play me, play me_  
_Playing with my mind_  
_Baby, baby, baby, baby_  
_You're making me go crazy_  
_And if you call that love_  
_Then love should be a crime_

The song's in a much higher key than it usually is with Brittany singing lead, but, other than that they sound completely flawless, the way their voices are blending together.

Brittany, for all her quirks and eccentric qualities and with her usually bubbly and uplifting personality, seems completely out of character singing such a mellow song but, the _way_ she is singing it, no one can deny that she one-hundred percent _feels_ what she's singing.

_Baby, baby, baby, baby  
It happens all the time  
How you play me, play me, play me  
Playing with my mind  
Baby, baby, baby, baby  
You're making me go crazy  
And if you call that love  
Then all it was  
Was a pocketful of nothing  
But a suicidal gun  
If you call that love  
Then love should be a crime_

***o*O*o***

"God, Glee club is so depressing these days. I'm totally quitting," Puck grumbles, slinging his guitar over his shoulder and opening the passenger door for her.

"You're not," Quinn informs him, brushing back her hair, and climbing out of his truck, "You like it too much to quit. Besides, you have to admit, we're getting some really good performances out of all the drama."

"Yeah, well…something's gonna have to give," he says, opening the back door and reaching inside. "Isn't that right baby Beth?" he coos, unbuckling her from her car seat.

_**Oh.**_

_**So, yeah.**_

_**This probably looks weird right.**_

_**But, it's not what you think, I swear.**_

_**Quinn and I just decided that it'd be easier for us to both get to know Beth at the same time. **_

_**It cuts down on the time Beth spends away from Shelby plus, I'm always around if Quinn can't get Beth to quiet down.**_

**_So,__it__'__s_not_like__I__'__m__playing__happy__families__with__the__mother__of__my__illegitimate__daughter._**

_**We're just, you know, taking Beth to the park, or to the mall, or to…well, that's kinda it because she's a toddler for crying out loud, but we don't look couple-y at all.**_

_**In fact, Quinn hardly touches me.**_

_**Or looks at me.**_

_**Or acknowledges me even.**_

_**So, we're cool.**_

"Hey beautiful girl," Quinn says gently, plucking Beth from Puck's arms, "Are you ready to go play on the swings?"

Beth smiles, all gums, soggy toast stick still in her mouth.

Puck unpacks her stroller and opens it while Quinn secures her inside of it. "Did you bring her teething ring?" he asks, sifting through the pink baby bag he's also shouldering.

"You were supposed to grab it," Quinn tells him, cutting her eyes up at him.

"No way," Puck combats, "I was supposed to grab the toys and shit. You were in charge of the food and bottle department aka, things that go in her mouth."

"No," Quinn insists, keeping her voice light, "You were in charge of toys and play things – which includes her teething ring."

"That doesn't make any sense," he says, face screwing up as he absently pushes Beth along.

"It does to me," Quinn states, taking over control of the stroller.

"That's because you're stupid," he grumbles, smirking when Quinn shoots a glare in his direction but suddenly an elderly woman is walking up to them, all smiles and eyes lighting up when she sees the baby.

"Oh," the woman coos gently, grinning at Beth who gurgles in response, "What an adorable baby girl. She's very beautiful."

"Thanks," Puck says proudly, sticking his chest out and Quinn holds back a chuckle.

The woman looks at them, the smile never faltering, "And you too. You make such a nice young couple."

"Oh we're not," Puck hurries to say but Quinn cuts him off, her hand slipping into his free one, "Thank you, ma'am."

"Just…lovely," the woman adds, finally walking away.

But, even though she's gone, Quinn doesn't let go of his hand, pushing Beth slowly along with her right hand only.

Yeah.

They're cool.

* * *

**Songs in this chapter include:**

_Songbird_ by Fleetwood Mac

_My __Secret_ by New Edition

_Never __Knew __I __Needed_ by NeYo

_Love __Should __Be __A __Crime_ by O-town


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer: Don't Own. Just borrowing.**

**Author's Note: **Oh dude, it just hit me. Sure, when everyone complains about the double-standards I'm like, 'yeah, I see it. I agree', even though I'm mostly passive about it, but the summation of Quinn's issues into "rich, white girl problems" when almost every dilemma any of the boys have is this BIG deal seems to have opened mine eyes. Wow, Glee. I know politically incorrect is your thing but the blatant sexism is annoying; and highly inappropriate considering the driving force on your show is the women on it. I'm glad Glee exists because let's see, six queer characters – and counting – on a primetime national TV network is something I didn't think I'd see until I was maybe fifty or something, so I'm forever grateful in that regard. Visibility speaks volumes (even if the characters don't, zing!) but progress on that front is negated when all the show's women are these hopelessly dependent, under-developed entities with occasional bouts of radical feminism (way to fucking go, Emma in _Yes/No_!). Glee needs to fix that more than anything else and fast. Okay, I'm done.

**Author's Note#2: **Thank you very much to my awesome, awesome beta. Thanks to my readers/reviewers. Happy Friday and enjoy the weekend!

* * *

_**I am gonna do it.**_

_**I really, finally, am.**_

_**Like Santana said, when you know, you know.**_

_**And I know.**_

_**I really know.**_

_**We're like a few years away from becoming the next celebrity/athlete couple. **_

_**He's going to be ripping it up in the NBA and I'm going to be accepting my second Grammy for album of the year and no one can tell me different.**_

_**I know Benjamin loves me and me?**_

_**I loves me some Benjamin.**_

_**Now, the only thing left to do is to show it…**_

…_**and try not to puke when I bring it up.**_

Mercedes is early getting to Benjamin's basketball game but she still misses all of the action.

Her guy's team is like the Chicago Bulls of high school basketball around these parts and they were playing a team akin to the Washington Generals.

And she totally gets those basketball references now due to Ben and his childlike enthusiasm for the sport.

So, even though she's early, the other team forfeited the game after a fifty-five point deficit after the first quarter and she's missed it all.

She's not too disappointed because who would want to sit through that ass-whooping of a game and this also means she can get straight to Bencedes time and she loves her some Bencedes time.

But when she rounds the corner to the bleachers, intent on locating her man; it's only to find one of the other team's cheerleader draped all over him, grinning as she wipes him down with a game towel and Benjamin just stands there, letting it happen.

Then, the most egregious of actions: that skank rears up and actually kisses him .lips.

Now Mercedes is a diva with a capital D and she's got cutting words and swagger out of this universe but…but…when a diva's heart gets broken, all of that bravado just flies out of the window and Mercedes leaves before he, or anyone else, can see her.

***o*O*o***

Quinn pulls her sweater tighter against her body as she waits on the doorstep, rolling her eyes at this predicament.

Damn Puckerman and his proclivity for being a knight in shining armor.

If it wasn't for his heroics that night with Beth she'd never be in this situation in the first place and really, she'd appreciate being any other place then where she is right now.

She'd actually rather go clothes shopping with Rachel at _Kids R' Us_.

_That's_ how much she wants out of this thing.

But before she can even think about flipping her phone open, the door opens a smidge, then a smidge wider when a smiling face pops from behind it.

"Hey, Quinn," Angeles says enthusiastically, stepping out onto the stoop to give her a hug, which Quinn returns earnestly.

"Hi, baby boy," she gushes, stepping back half a step to look at him. "Oh my God, you've gotten so big."

"Well, you haven't seen me in forever," he says, playfully rolling his eyes.

Quinn pokes him in the shoulder. "That's because someone stopped coming to the cheerleading competitions."

"And _that's_ because cheerleading is gay," Angeles smirks.

"Right." Quinn holds her tongue, even though he'd actually – and _mostly_ inadvertently – reminded her of why she is here in the first place. "So, anyway, is your sister here?"

"Yes." Angeles nods, dark hair falling into his eyes.

Quinn waits for a second, but the boy grins, unmoving. She laughs. "Can you go get her?"

"Yes." He stands there.

"Go get her you crazy boy," she says, pushing his head away and stepping beside him into the house.

It still looks the same from what Quinn can remember although there are more portraits lining the foyer walls than before. Pictures of Santana, Angeles and their parents adorning practically every inch of wall space.

Slowly she makes her way to the living room and stands awkwardly in a place she used to take so much comfort in being as she wonders when or even how exactly that happened.

She touches the trinkets and awards lined up on the mantle and smiles at the latest cheer competition one as Santana's hurried footsteps come clamoring down the stairs.

Quinn barely has time to look up before Santana's standing before her, face full of surprise.

"Oh," she says dryly, face falling a bit.

"Try not to sound too disappointed, Santana," Quinn laughs, albeit nervously.

Santana doesn't even try to clean it up. "I thought…well Angel said blonde girl and I assumed…"

"She thought you were Brittany," Angeles fills in, cackling evilly from the base of the stairs and Santana moves to chase him – or, you know, maim him – but Quinn's grip on her wrist is fast and furious.

"Kill him later, 'kay? I need to talk to you."

Santana's instantly on the defensive, yanking her hand away. "Who says I_ want_ to talk to you?"

"Angeles," Quinn calls out sweetly, "Can you give us a minute?"

"Sure, Quinn," he responds and Santana rolls her eyes.

"He's still got that stupid crush on you for some reason," she murmurs.

"Well, at least he doesn't have it on Brittany, right?"

Santana shrugs, looking away, but that non-answer pretty much tells Quinn all she needs to know.

"I know you don't want to talk to me, but you need to talk to someone Santana," Quinn insists. "About what you're thinking…what you're feeling. I mean, I saw the way you looked at Brittany this afternoon-"

"You didn't _see_ anything," Santana hisses, eyes widening.

Quinn laughs humorlessly. "I'm not going to pretend that I know even half of what's going on between you and her but you can't sit here and tell me it's nothing."

Santana deflates, swallowing tightly.

"Look, I know we're not really friends anymore-"

"We were _never_ friends," Santana interrupts darkly

"Santana, that's not true."

"Isn't it?" the Latina goes on to say, almost tauntingly. "What kind of friend spills about her friend's summer surgery to get the upper hand? What kind of _friend_ sleeps with her friend's boyfriend?"

"Okay, I get it," Quinn stops her. "I suck."

"You did. I mean, you do," Santana assures her, then shrugs. "Only now you're like, not as good at it or something."

"In spite of how awful I've _been_, I'm here now. And I'm telling you that you need to get this thing off of your chest. At the very least clear the air with Brittany. Think about it: as confused as you are right now, she must be a million times worse off. If that song is any indication at all, she's in a not so good place."

***o*O*o***

"I got it, Mom!" Mike yells, sliding down the banister with practiced ease.

He glances at his watch as he slides through the foyer and notes, absently, that it's a little too early for Sunshine to be over but, hey, he's not gonna complain.

"Hey…" he says, grinning wide as he opens the door, "…Puck?"

"'Sup bro," Puck grins, holding up a couple of movies, "Wanna hang?"

"Uh, sure," Mike says hesitantly, stepping aside so that Puck can come in.

"Mikey!" his mother calls from inside the kitchen, making Puck snicker, "Who is it?"

"It's just Pu- I mean, Noah! From school!" Mike answers, slapping him on the arm to shut him up. "We're just gonna go to my room!"

"Okay, Mikey!"

Puck manages to hold it in until they get to Mike's room but as soon as they do, he bursts out in cackles. "_Mikey_?" he almost shouts, shaking with laughter. "Your mom calls you Mikey? Wait, wait, wait; Hey Mikey, does he like it?"

"Shut up," Mike faux-grumbles, throwing the nearest thing he can find at Puck. "I'm sure your mom still calls you Noah-ey or something."

"Yeah…no," Puck deadpans, making himself at home on Mike's bed and taking a look around. "Wow, nice digs, man. Must make a note to hang out at your crib more often."

"That reminds me," Mike says, closing his bedroom door, "How did you know where I live anyway?"

"I know where all the glee kids live," Puck replies, kicking off his shoes. "Stole Mr. Schue's contact sheet like day two of joining that club. Now make yourself useful and pop one of these in, dude."

Mike shakes his head with a laugh, catching the DVDs as Puck chucks them at him. "What are you doing here anyway? My girl's gonna be here in about two hours."

"Changster," Puck says, pouting, clutching at his chest dramatically, "Bros ova ho's, man. That's the code."

"No can do, Bro," Mike chuckles, popping the disc into the player anyway. "Seriously, what's up? We're cool and all but we don't really chill outside of school."

"Okay, _Oprah_," Puck grumbles, pushing himself into a sitting position, "Since you won't shut up about it; I need your advice."

"Is this about Brittany and Santana? Because I'm starting to think Quinn had the right idea all along. Let them work it out on their own," Mike says absently, half of his attention drawn to the action movie trailer on his TV screen.

Puck scrunches his face. "What? No. I don't give a damn about them anymore. Santana can screw that gay guy if she wants to and Brittany can go back to doing the wheelchair wiggle with Abrams. I'm talking about me this time, bruh. The Puckster. The sex shark."

"Okay. Well, what about you?"

Puck sighs, shoulders drooping dramatically. "I've lost it."

"You lost…what?" Mike's confused.

"My…thing. My….it. My _je ne sais quois_," Puck explains, leaning closer to Mike. "Take yesterday for example...There I was at the 7 Eleven, trying to decide between the red slushy and the blue slushy and that's serious business, you know? Sure, the red one tastes better but the blue one turns your tongue this awesome color. Anyway, there I was, looking all contemplative and stuff and this girl with knockers out to here," Puck pauses to demonstrate, "walks right in front of me, gives me this _look_ and do you know what I did Mikey?"

"Puck," Mike warns.

"Sorry, couldn't resist. I. Did. Nothing. I did nothing. Hot chick bait floats into my tank and I didn't even stop to take a nibble."

Mike considers this. "What color slushy did you decide on?"

"Blue. My tongue looked _so_ cool," Puck answers excitedly before frowning at himself. "See what I mean? What the hell is the matter with me?"

"You know what I think it is? You're finding out you've got a heart man. You don't want to be the sex shark anymore," Mike says, grinning all the while. "You're more like a…like a swan. They mate for life you know."

Puck stares at him. "Bye Mike," he says finally, reaching for his shoes and standing up.

"What?" Mike laughs, grabbing his arm and pushing him back down. "Puck, dude, come on."

"You need to watch at least ten Van Damn movies in a row after spouting that garbage. I'm not growing a heart, I'm hard up."

"Well, how did you 'get' so many girls before?"

"My animalistic charm, of course. What else? Oh, and I treated them like crap," Puck gasps, jolting to attention. "That's it. I need to be an ass again."

"Puckerman, I hate to break it to you, but you're already an ass."

"More of an ass then," Puck insists, putting his shoes back on for real now. "Thanks Mikey," he says, ruffling the other boy's hair. "And seriously, watch those movies because that initial advice you gave me was like, uber-gay."

***o*O*o***

Rachel finds herself unable to remain still, standing atop Sam's stoop and waiting for the boy to come to the door.

It's completely unexpected on her part, but, she's grown rather fond of him in this time they've been…well "together" she supposes.

It's just the little things Sam does like, hold open doors for her, or grab a book off the fourth shelf in the library – she's short; leave her be – or, you know, remember to bring extra bath towels to school.

That last one comes in handy rather frequently.

And he's sweet, and attentive…it's unreal actually and probably too good to be true.

The other shoe just hasn't dropped yet.

Still, she can enjoy the good times while they last and as she holds the picnic basket just that little bit tighter, she's reminded of why she's here in the first place.

If Sam would just open the door-

"What do you want?"

Rachel takes an involuntary step back, Mr. Evans acerbic tone startling her.

"Good evening, Mr. Evans. Is Samuel home?"

Mr. Evans peers at her closely and she notes at once that the unshaven man reeks of alcohol. "Whaddaya wan' with my boy?" he slurs. "Who the hell are you?"

"Dad," Sam says, finally making his appearance, "I've got it," he continues, cautiously turning the man away from Rachel.

Mr. Evans gives Rachel one last long glance before shuffling away, leaving a trail of muttered curses in his wake.

Sam turns to her, but he's patently careful not to look her in her eyes. "Hey Rachel. I didn't know we had plans," he says, his voice cautious, masking his unease.

"We didn't," Rachel says, holding up the picnic basket and feeling a little foolish. "I thought we'd picnic in your backyard…or mine," she adds, catching his look of panic in his eyes in record time. "I brought cucumbers and tahini."

"I...I don't think that's a good idea tonight, Rachel," Sam says, eyes cutting back into the house as his father grunts out something again.

Rachel nods, understanding. "Okay, that's fine. I'll see you at school tomorrow, then?"

"Yeah, yeah. Of course," Sam says, finally meeting her eyes. He smiles lightly. "Thanks for the picnic, Rachel. I wish we could have, you know, had it. Rain check?"

Rachel smiles this time, nodding. "That's fine. Good night, Samuel."

"Good night, Rachel."

"Shut the goddamn door!"

***o*O*o***

"…and that's why x-ray diffraction of some technologically important surfaces is essential, particularly how the physical and chemical properties of finely divided particles with well-defined surface morphology vary depending on the size of the particle..." Brittany says aloud, still scribbling away in crayon.

She's totally gonna get an A on this paper.

Granted she didn't _entirely_ stay focused on the subject matter – who's Abraham Lincoln anyway, the guy from the Bible? – but no one can deny her genius.

No one.

A.

A.

A.

_Tap. ._

Brittany sits up straight in her chair, freaking out immediately.

She totally should not have watched _The Ring_ earlier, especially since Buffy isn't here to save her.

The tapping sounds again and after a large gulp and silent prayer she looks over to her window and her entire body sags with relief, but then she gets uptight all over again for a different reason.

It's Santana.

Santana peers at her through the window, motioning for her to come over, but Brittany's so sick of this see-saw she's on with her best friend.

She's just sick of it – which is pretty crazy because Brittany totally loves see-saws.

_That's_ how insane Santana's behavior is making her.

So instead of rushing over and throwing the window open like she would any other night, instead she just sits there and pouts.

"Brittany," Santana pleads, giving her this _look_ through the pane of glass. "Come on. Let me in."

It's Santana's whispered _please_ that breaks her – that somehow sounds louder than the other words Santana's said – and before Brittany knows it, she's across the room and pulling the window open, holding out a guiding arm so that Santana can climb inside.

"Thanks," the windswept girl says, brushing the stray leaves and sticks out of her hair. She fingers a tear in her t-shirt. "I haven't done that in a while," she says, laughing nervously, Brittany can tell. "I'm out of practice."

"Mmmhmm," Brittany says, sitting down cross-legged on her bed, one of her knee-socks sliding down in the process.

Santana swallows, standing in front of Brittany and looking down on her. "I'm here to…see I wanted…"

Brittany's waiting patiently; much more patient than Santana would ever be in this situation and suddenly Santana's overcome with the overwhelming bout of nausea. She would give anything to not be here right now.

She'd probably give up sex for life…whoa, yeah no. Maybe a week.

Her phone buzzes in her jacket pocket and she's grateful for the distraction, even though, knowing who it is, it probably won't be much of one.

It's Colin.

_Did she say yes yet?_

She smiles, feeling a little more at ease and accidentally opens the message right before it.

_Woman up, woman! Ask her out._

"Brittany…"

Brittany looks up at her, through her eyelashes. Santana just wants to _die_. "Yeah?"

"I was wondering if like we could…go out sometime?" she asks, squeezing the last three words out in this insanely high-pitched voice.

She turns so red when she says it too and the way Brittany's looking at her now is _not_ helping. "Like on a date?"

Santana nods, even redder. "Yeah. A date. You want t-"

Brittany's arms are around her and she's on the floor, but what's really funny is nothing hurts…even though it really should.

"Of course I do," Brittany almost yells into her ear, holding her close.

So, that wasn't that hard.

***o*O*o***

Mercedes gets to school earlier than usual but she attributes that mostly to not being able to sleep; consequently, she got up and ready way before she usually does.

And also, Benjamin was blowing up her phone.

She's avoiding him, obviously.

And she mad at him, definitely.

And he's…oblivious, apparently.

She's gotten all these cute texts from him asking where she is, and if she got home okay, and then a few voicemails expressing his concern for her well-being.

She can't decide if he's just an asshole or a considerate asshole.

It's disconcerting to say the least.

"Hey girl!"

Nope.

Just an asshole.

Mercedes keeps walking.

"Mercedes, what's going on?" Benjamin asks, jogging quickly to catch up to her.

"I don't know, _Benjamin_," she says, whirling around on him. "You tell me."

Benjamin looks lost. "Did I…_do_ something?"

Mercedes sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. "You know what? I don't have time for this. You can play your mind games with your 'other' girlfriend? The one who was all hugged up on you at the game."

Benjamin just stands there, floored.

"That's what I thought," Mercedes tosses over her shoulder as she walks away, done with him. But-

"Why?" she asks, rounding on him. "Why'd you do this to me? To us?"

Benjamin shrugs slightly, unable to find the words.

"You know what?" Mercedes snaps, glaring at him. "I think I'm finally ready for Mr. Schue's assignment."

Benjamin tries reaching for her, but Mercedes shoves him away angrily. Benjamin looks around the slowly filling quad anxiously, not appreciating the extra attention their getting and it only gets worse when Mercedes starts singing.

_I woke up kinda early today_

_And something told me from that moment it wouldn't be the same_

_It felt like you were hiding something _

_But I didn't push it, I didn't complain or say nothing_

_I tried to act like I didn't see it_

'_Cause deep down inside I didn't want to believe it_

_But there it was, it was you and her_

_You left your iPhone on the nightstand and I read_

_Everything you bought and everything you said_

_And now I'm standing here looking like damn_

"Baby, come on. Let's talk about this," Benjamin tries reaching for her, but Mercedes shoves him away angrily.

_I thought it was you and I_

_Now all I gotta say is why_

_After all of the time that we tried_

_I found out we were living a lie_

_And after all of this love that we made_

_I know now you don't love me the same_

_The way that I love_

_The way that I love you_

_The way that I love_

_The way that I love you_

_The way that I love_

_The way that I love you_

The last note trails off and Mercedes turns to go, Benjamin starting after her.

"Mercedes, come on," he pleads, grabbing her wrist, "I love you, girl."

"Goodbye Ben."

***o*O*o***

"What up, Fabray?" Puck says, chewing obnoxiously on his gum and leaning against the row of lockers and pinching her tummy slightly. "Uh oh, someone's putting on a little weight."

Quinn smiles, pulling her books out of her locker before she karate chops him in the throat and the gum flies out.

"Now, what were you saying?" she asks, still smiling politely.

Puck grabs his Adam's apple, massaging it gently as he coughs. "Jeez Fabray. You're lethal."

"And you're an egghead. We covered this already. What do you want? And make it quick. Finn and I have first period together," she tells him, walking down the crowded hallway.

"So?"

"So, I want to spend the few minutes before class making out with my boyfriend."

"I'll _never_ understand you relationship people," Puck says, scrunching up his nose.

"We're not for you to understand," Quinn laughs at his face, trying to remember where she's seen it before and then she laughs harder when she remembers. "Stop making that face."

"Why?" Puck asks, still making it.

Quinn hesitates for a moment, her eyes softening. "You look like Beth."

Puck lets his face morph back to normal, standing at the entrance to Quinn's classroom, unmoving.

"Morning guys," Finn says, taking Quinn's books and folders out of her arms.

"Uh, hey Finn," Puck stammers, watching Quinn look away guiltily. "I'mma…go."

"Hey," Finn grins, holding his hand out for her, "Ready to go in."

"Yeah," Quinn says, watching Puck's back until he's swallowed up by the crowd.

***o*O*o***

"William."

Will looks up from scribbling in his day planner…twice. Is Sue actually wearing a-

"No, you're not having one of what I'm sure are many erotic fantasies about me William. I am, in fact, wearing a Cheerios uniform."

"Um…okay," Will says slowly, shaking his head slightly. "Is there a reason why?"

"I'm gonna level with you William," Sue says, pulling out one of his office chairs and straddling it, "My Cheerios aren't doing so well. As a result, I've decided to act as a player-coach so to speak and give my girls a little boost both literally and figuratively…but unfortunately, I'm tall as hell William. Falling off my shoulders is the equivalent of that tiny Barbara Streisand falling off of the street curb: _deadly_."

"I'm sorry, Sue, but I'm not following. What does this have to do with me?"

"Oh William, all those years of piling on layer after layer of styling product has finally caught up to you, has it? You currently have in your Glee club three of my former Cheerios, dare I say, my _best_ Cheerios and I need them back. It is your responsibility to see to it that this happens."

Will laughs, loudly. "Excuse me? Why would I help you Sue? The girls are doing fine since they've left the squad. And you've done nothing but try to sabotage my teaching career since I've been he-" he stops abruptly when Sue starts laughing.

"I'm sorry but..." Sue struggles through her giggles, "…you said 'career'...like you actually have one."

Will closes his planner. "Goodbye Sue."

"Okay, William since I'm clearly not getting any free favors out of you. Then at least do it for the girls. Quinn'll probably be okay because she has the grades and, let's face it, Santana's going to benefit from some," Sue finger-quotes, "_Taco Bell_ quotas. But Brittany? Poor Brittany doesn't have the necessary grades or the appropriate amount of melanin to get into college. Adding a national cheer championship to her high school resume could go a long way in improving her future outlook. And honestly, do you want to be held responsible for breaking up the unholy trinity?"

Will has that contemplative look on his face, index finger pressed against his lips.

"Oh well," Sue shrugs, pushing herself up. "Something to think about at least. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm getting a little too acquainted with these spanks if you know what I mean."

***o*O*o***

Sam's closing up his locker when the camera and microphone are rather unceremoniously shoved into his face.

"What the-"

"This is JBI TV, Jacob Ben Israel reporting. Here with Sam Evans, the recently appointed boyfriend of one Miss Rachel Berry," Jacob speaks into the camera, trying to stay within the frame.

"Hi," Sam says awkwardly into the camera, spinning the combination on his lock.

"So, Sam, how _is_ your relationship with Miss Berry?"

Sam shrugs. "It's…fine, I guess."

"You guess or you know?"

"I…know?"

"Is that a statement or a question?" Jacob fires back.

"What-"

"When is Rachel's birthday?"

Sam scrunches up his eyebrows. "Sometime in June?" he guesses.

"Wrong. November 14th. What's her favorite color?"

"Red."

"Wrong again. It's topaz; even though she rarely if ever wears it. You know, for someone claiming to be dating Rachel you sure don't know a whole lot about her," Jacob says snippily, cutting his eyes at the other boy before dragging his microphone and camera guy in a whole 'nother direction, thankfully for Sam.

The fair-haired boy blows out a breath, fisting the straps of his backpack as he resumes his walk to Rachel's locker.

"Hey," he says with a smile that meets his eyes.

"Hello," Rachel echoes, then leans in a little closer and whispers, "Are you okay? After last night?"

"I'm fine," he assures her, quickly. "My dad just…it's fine. Don't worry about it okay?"

"Alright," Rachel says gently, nodding affirmatively.

Sam reaches for her hand, threading their fingers together. "On a lighter note, Jacob Ben Israel just called me out for not being a good boyfriend, I think," he says, slow grin working its way across his face.

"Oh God," Rachel mutters, covering her face with one of her notebooks. "That boy has the most unnatural crush on me."

"I've gathered," Sam deadpans. "He did have a point though. I don't really know that much about you and if I'm going to continue being your quasi-boyfriend, that's going to have to change."

***o*O*o***

"Alright guys, settle down," Mr. Schue says, waving his arms around in a shushing motion. "Finn has the floor."

"Thanks, Mr. Schue," Finn says brightly, moving to stand in the middle of the room. He dressed in a full tuxedo with tails, a top hat finishing the classic ensemble. "So, I know my dancing's always been a little suspect…"

"Your last spin move almost gave me a concussion," Tina deadpans.

"Yeah," Mercedes laughs a little, "You ain't got no rhythm, boy."

The rest of the room pretty much echoes this sentiment, except for Brittany and Mike.

"But hanging out with Mike and Brittany taught me that, with a little hard work and determination, you can do pretty much anything. Including dance like freaking Fred Astaire," he grins a little, gesturing to the band to start playing.

The first few notes of Fred Astaire's _Puttin' on the Ritz_ comes on and Finn starts gliding around the room like a newborn giraffe, as per usual.

Only, now, he looks a lot less gangly and a lot more graceful.

_Have you seen the well-to-do, _

_Up and down Park Avenue  
On that famous thoroughfare _

_With their noses in the air  
High hats and Arrowed collars,_

_White spats and lots of dollars  
Spending every dime, for a wonderful time  
_

_If you're blue and you don't know where to go to  
Why don't you go where fashion sits,  
Puttin' on the ritz.  
_

_Different types who wear a daycoat, pants with stripes  
And cut away coat, perfect fits,  
Puttin' on the ritz._

Finn finishes the song proudly, one knee on the ground and cane in air to raucous applause.

"Alright, Finn," Mr. Schue claps, motioning for him to get back to his seat. "I guess we can't call you our wekest link anymore."

Finn's smile falters. "You guys called me that?"

"Um, is there anyone else who'd like to go right now?"

"I guess I could close out this crap-fest," Puck grunts, roughly pushing his way past Artie and Tina without apology.

Hey, if he was going to do this asshole thing, he had to go all out with it.

While he's getting prepared, Finn leans back and whispers to Brittany. "How'd I do?"

"You were awesome, Finn," Brittany smiles, sitting closer than usual to Santana. "I'm happy for you."

Finn smiles. "I'm happy for you, too," he says, eyes darting back between Brittany and Santana. "It's good to see you two together, again. It's like, the way stuff's supposed to be, you know?"

Brittany nods but the smile on Santana's face turns into a grimace, even though she remains quiet.

"Alright, so some people have gotten the impression that just because I don't throw people into dumpsters or spend my weekly prophylactic budget on slushies that I've gone soft or something. But I'm here to tell ya', that's complete bullshit. I'm _still_ a badass."

_When I was younger_

_I used to go and tip cows for fun, yeah_

_Actually I didn't do that_

'_Cause I didn't want the cow to be sad_

_But some of my friends did_

_They were all just a little bit wicked_

_They'd blow up mailboxes with a baseball bat_

_Go for direct hits_

_I know how to win you can forget it_

_They throw rotten eggs into traffic_

_Toilet paper the fences_

_Throw the tables, chairs and the benches_

_After practice_

_Sometimes we would break into mad fits_

'_Causin' damage_

_Burnin' amplifiers and mic stands_

_Everybody get dangerous_

_Everybody get dangerous, boo-yah!_

_Everybody get dangerous_

_Everybody get dangerous, boo-yah!_

By song's end the entire Glee club, and Mr. Schue, and the band were staring at him, mouths agape and eyes unblinking.

"Unh," Puck grunts, flexing comically. "Straight gangsta."

"Um," Mike speaks up, clearing his throat, "I'm pretty sure even Kurt could kick everybody in Weezer's ass. I'm not being a gay-cist, either. Kurt's a yellow belt."

"The front man wears bifocals and sweater vests," Rachel adds, agreeing. "Even I can admit that's the opposite of 'bad ass'."

"He looks like a pre-school teacher," Brittany quips, making Santana crack up.

That starts the giggle-fest.

Puck looks horrified – it's like his worse nightmare's come true.

Everyone's laughing and pointing and _dear Yahweh _it _is_ his worst nightmare, only, thankfully, he's not naked.

"I hate this stupid club," he grumbles, stomping a foot petulantly, which, unfortunately for him, only fuels the laughter. "I quit."

***o*O*o***

_**I can't do this.**_

_**I can't be the girl who likes other girls.**_

Santana watches Brittany from down the hallway, the blonde girl laughing with Mike about something.

She catches Santana staring and her cheeks tinge pink as she waves her fingers at the other girl.

Santana nods, watches her leave, and then squares her shoulders, knowing what has to be done.

She can't go on just being Brittany's friend, and she can't just be her girlfriend either.

Not with the way this school and this crappy town are.

She needs protection, insurance.

She _needs_ Sue Sylvester.

"You wanted to see me?" Santana asks, her game face on as she enters her former coach's office.

Sue looks up, a small smirk barely evident on her face. "Have a seat."

"I'd rather stand," Santana says firmly, holding her notebook against her chest tightly, eyes cutting in the direction of a diligently-note taking Becky.

"Have it your way," Sue dismisses casually, leaning back in her chair and giving Santana the once-over. "So, how've you been?"

"I've been fine except, lately, I've decided that I don't have time for people and their games; Cheer coaches or not. So if you don't have anything to say I have more interesting people to attend to."

"Like your blonde, blue-eyed, leggy girlfriend?" Sue fires back, delighting in Santana's quiet gasp. "Oops, I mean _best_ friend. My mistake."

Santana swallows. "If you do anything to Brittany-"

"Oh, relax," the coach declares, reaching for her hand blender. "I'm trying to help you. Now, I know you've got a thing for that buxom blonde – it's been evident ever since the first Cheerios tryout and that little incident in the locker room immediately after. But I also know that this school is full of ignorant little snots, who'll never amount to anything by the way, intent on rejecting anything short of usual. They'll make life for you two hell. You know it. I know it. And even that good for nothing, Care Bear-esque, khaki-loving teacher of yours knows it. So, I'm here to offer you lesbimatic immunity."

"I…don't understand."

"If anybody or anyone says anything to either you or Brittany that's even remotely insensitive or bullying, just report it to me and I'll be sure to deal with them appropriately. I've spent the afternoon coming up with elaborate punishments from upside-down apple bobbing to a midget firing line with hot-sauce filled water guns," Sue explains, then point to Becky, "Becky has the sketches."

"Here you go," Becky says, handing the papers over to Santana and the Latina frowns, still confused.

"What's the catch?"

"You come back to the Cheerios."

"Done," Santana agrees, readily. She'd actually wanted back on the Cheerios like, yesterday.

"Not so fast, Speedy Gonna-go-lez. I have one condition."

"What is it?"

Sue smirks. "I want Brittany and Quinn too."

_**Crap.**_

***o*O*o***

**Songs in the chapter are:**

**_The Way That I Love You_ by Ashanti**

**_Puttin' On The Ritz_ by Fred Astaire**

**_Everybody Get Dangerous_ by Weezer**


	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer: **Don't own. Just borrowing.

**Author's Note:** Just dropping this off before I go on vacation. This'll be my first missed live Glee episode viewing watch since _A Very Glee Christmas _(though I kinda dodged a bullet there, I think). Anywho, I hope you all enjoy. And a special thanks to my beta for sticking this out even during spring break (side note: _I _may have given me the brush off). See you guys later and enjoy the weekend.

* * *

**Monday**

Will wakes slowly, his ears perking up to the sounds of a shower being run.

Wait, did he fall asleep in the shower?

Alarmed, he sits up in bed, head throbbing immensely in protest.

"Ugh," he groans, the muscles in his shoulders tightening with every movement, "What the hell did I do last night?"

He's shirtless, though he's still wearing his tie, and there's a pile of clothes on his bedroom floor that he _hopes_ doesn't belong to him because, surely, even with his endless list of problems, cross-dresser is definitely not one of them.

Besides, he can't think much about that, because now in addition to the running water, there's music floating out of his bathroom now, the clock radio turned up just a tad more than usual.

"_Good morning, Lima! I'm your host Darren DeVito and you're listening to Darry D in Dee Mornin'. Here's a little blast form the past for you early risers. Sir Paul and his homies comin at ya!_"

The radio wails as Will draws nearer to the open bathroom, still only clad in boxers.

The guitar plucks out a few notes and then a voice exclaims, "Oh my God. That's my jam!"

Will quickens his pace. "Holly?"

Holly pokes her head around the shower curtain. "Hey, hot stuff. Took you long enough to get up."

"Holly?" Will squeaks again, disbelieving. "What are you doing here?"

"You don't remember?" Holly asks innocently, rubbing her thumb and index finger over her earlobe. "You called me up last night for our semi-weekly swingers' night. Last night was Billy Bob and Angie, although Angie didn't do a whole lot of bobbing if you know what I mean."

Will's eyes widen. "What?"

"I'm just kidding. It was just Billy Bob and I felt extremely left out," she amends, grinning wryly.

"Holly?" Will cautions.

"Okay. Okay. Man, you are no fun. You rang me up for drinks and we spent the night complaining about your _kids_ until you passed out from too much lameness," she says, sounding rather annoyed. "Frankly, I should be pissed at you for not making a move. I mean, who would pass up on all of this. You'd have to be blind, or gay…wait, are you gay?"

"What? No."

"Are you sure? Because, this shower curtain is pretty see-through and yet I see no activity coming from those tiny little boxer sho- hey-O! Spoke too soon."

"Jesus," Will mutters turning around, grabbing a towel to cover up. "So, we talked about my kids?"

"Yep," Holly reaffirms. "You kept ranting about how regionals were coming up and that they needed a set list pronto. And I said, 'well just pick some songs.' And you said, 'it works better when they do it.' And I said, 'make them do it'. And you said, 'I will. I just need to narrow down their choices.' Which, technically kind of means you're _still_ picking their songs for them but whatever, your class your call. So anyway, that's when you conked out muttering about meaningful lyrics and upbeat tempos. Also, the art of story-telling which I was bummed to find out had nothing to do with Slick Rick."

Will sits on the closed toilet, thinking.

Meaningful lyrics.

Upbeat tempos.

"Man, I just love this song," Holly murmurs, before singing along.

_Little darling, I feel that ice is slowly melting  
Little darling, it seems like years since it's been clear  
Here comes the sun  
Here comes the sun, and I say  
It's all right_

Here comes the sun  
Here comes the sun, and I say  
It's all right

Will grins.

***o*O*o***

_**It's finally happening.**_

**_Santana and I are going on…wait for it…_a date!**

_**It's so awesome and I don't know what or who changed her mind but I'm glad she did because now my heart can stop going up and down like a yo-yo.**_

_**Of course, now that we are going on a date, my tummy's turned into a washing machine on the spin cycle.**_

_**Good thing this is just the dry-run of getting ready.**_

_**I wonder how it's gonna be. **_

_**Like, should I open the door for her?**_

_**Who's gonna pay?**_

_**And – this one is most important – should I order the shrimp cocktail or not?**_

_**Hmm…**_

"You've got your thinking face on again," Mike says as he's lying on Brittany's bed, back pressed back against the headboard. "What girl-girl date question is troubling you now?"

"Don't tease me, Mike," Brittany pouts, applying her lip gloss in front of her dresser mirror. "You know I've never done this before and I want this date with Santana to go perfect."

"I know you do," Mike nods, rearranging the baubles on her nightstand. "But, come on, it's you and Santana. This is cake, Brittany."

"Cake?"

"Easy," he amends.

"Cake's not easy. Not even ones in the easy bake oven. Did you know those things explode?"

"Okay, well, let's just say it's like dancing. Dancing is natural for you," Mike explains, carrying on with his analogy. "So just look at this: like you're dancing with Santana, your deepest and truest friend."

"Okay," Brittany says, breathing a little easier. "That makes sense."

Mike smiles, "Easy right?"

"Uh huh," she says, whirling around to face him. "Now, which one?" Brittany asks, her top lip painted one color and her bottom lip another.

Mike squints at her, debating. "Top one," he says, then pauses. "I'm starting to see the disadvantages of you going out with Santana."

"What disadvantages?"

"You turning me into your _girl_friend," he says, picking up different tubes of nail polish off of her night stand…and then hurriedly putting them back down.

Brittany laughs. "But you're so good at it."

Mike's smile falls.

"Now there's another thing you can't ever say outside of these walls."

***o*O*o***

Quinn – of all people – is not who she expects to find sitting alone in the quad and under any normal circumstance, she'd probably either a. shoot herself in the face or b. make out with Karofsky (ew) rather than willingly have a conversation with the blonde former head cheerleader, but these are desperate times and desperate times call for desperate measures…or some shit.

At least, she thinks that's how it goes.

Santana's skirt swishes as she walks up to her, undetected because Quinn's engrossed in some John Grisham novel, and plunks her notebook down without a word.

"Hi," she offers brightly when Quinn looks up.

"Santana," Quinn says curtly, taking in her appearance and if she cares about what she sees, she doesn't let on.

Santana bites her lip, fingers drumming against the cover of her notebook anxiously as she leans against the table. "Um, so, normally I wouldn't do this but, I really don't know who else to go to. Except Mike but I want it to be a surprise and he'll spill, I'm sure. Or my parents I guess but…yeah, that's _so_ not a conversation I'm ready to have-"

"Santana, _what_ are you rambling about?"

"I…I thought you knew. I, um, asked Brittany out," she admits shyly, her eyes looking downward.

_That _finally grabs Quinn full attention.

"Are you serious?" she asks, her tone indescribable. "I…wow. I thought for sure you were going to drag it out or something."

"Nope," Santana says quickly, wanting to move on because Quinn's looking at her weird. "I asked her and now there's an actual, you know, date to be had and-"

"You don't know what to do," Quinn finishes for her, folding her hands neatly against the tabletop.

"Yeah," Santana says quietly, shrugging lightly. "I mean I want it to be romantic but, I also want it to be special. Unique…because," she shrugs again, "It's Brittany."

Quinn's smile is in her eyes, not on her lips, and Santana's grateful because she definitely feels more than a little embarrassed right now and Quinn spewing 'proud of you' vibes will just about kill her at this point. "Understood," the blonde says, opening her book back up. "But I'm not going to help you."

"What?" Santana asks, face falling and heartbeat picking up with dread. "Why not?"

"Because you want it to be special and unique," Quinn answers, calmness in her tone. "It won't ever be that unless it comes from you."

Santana doesn't look very reassured by that, if her frown is any indication.

"Some help you are," she almost snarls, yanking up her notebook but Quinn just smiles.

"You'll thank me for this one day," she calls after Santana's retreating form.

"I wouldn't count on it, you Finnkenstein-loving hippie."

***o*O*o***

Santana brushes the mascara wand along her lashes, while Brittany stares at her reflection in the mirror confused.

They've done this for years now, ever since Brittany can remember and yet, something is definitely off about today.

She looks at herself again.

Oh.

Now she knows.

"Santana, why are we wearing our Cheerios uniforms?" Brittany asks like she's just noticing.

"Because we're back on the squad."

"We are? When did that happen? Did I get roofied again?"

"No, Britt. And you didn't get roofied the first before. You just locked yourself out of your window and spent the night on the roof. Two totally different things," she explains carefully, capping her mascara and moving on to apply her lip gloss. "And we're back on the squad because I begged coach to give us another chance. That reminds me; start thinking of a plan to get Q back on, too. I don't even care if we have to use that Michelin Man of a boyfriend of hers as leverage, she's not going to mess this up for me."

"I don't know, Santana. I really liked being off the squad. I remembered what real food tasted like and I wasn't cold all the time. Plus, I looked really hot in my hats."

Santana smiles. "I'm not arguing that. It's just, Britt…this is really important," she says softly, capping her lip gloss and taking Brittany's hands into her own. "I _need_ to be on the squad. It's the only way…Just, please Brittany? Please?"

Her thumbs trace along the blonde's knuckles tenderly and Brittany watches the movement, transfixed.

The bathroom door swings open then and Brittany's eyes dart up to Santana, wondering just how she's going to react.

She watches the panic flash across those dark eyes, but just as quickly Santana lets out a slow breath, squaring her shoulders and gripping onto Brittany's hands a little tighter, her expression resolute even as the other Cheerios take notice.

"Please Britt?" she asks again, her voice trembling ever so slightly – in the way that only Brittany ever notices.

Brittany smiles. "Okay. But there's only one sure-fire way to get Quinn back on the squad."

***o*O*o***

"Finn, drum roll," Will says, darting into the somewhat noisy choir room.

Finn drums away as Will's black marker squeaks across the dry erase board, spelling out the letters P, J, G, and R.

"I finally figured out what we're gonna sing for regionals," Will says proudly, smiling widely at the confused bunch.

"Ooh, I know," Brittany says, raising her hand, "The alphabet song."

"Damn, that was gonna be my guess," Artie says, smiling at her.

Santana rolls her eyes.

Tina too.

"Close Brittany, but no, those letters stand for initials," Will says, still giddy. "Paul, John, George and Ringo."

Rachel reacts immediately, but everybody else pretty much sit still aloof.

"What is it?" Sam asks her, smiling at her enthusiasm.

"The Beatles!" she nearly yells into his ear, uncontained smile a mile wide.

"Yes!" Will claps his hands, pointing in her direction. "Right on, Rachel. It came to me this morning. Miss Holiday was taking a shower-"

"Wait, hold up," Mercedes says, palm in the sky. "You and Mrs. H were showering together?"

"Wanky."

"Santana," Will reprimands, face turning a little red as the rest of the group wolf-whistles and carries on. "It…forget I said that. I just think the Beatles would be a perfect fit for you guys for regionals. They're upbeat and catchy but also profound and deep."

"Which pretty much covers the entire microcosm of our group," Tina surmises, smiling. "That's super-cool, Mr. Schue."

"And as a little added competition: whoever has the best performance, solo or as a group, that's the song we're singing at regionals and they also get to pick the other two songs. And, knocking on wood here, the winner or winners will also get a solo at nationals, should we make it to nationals that is."

"Hey, I'm all for the message Mr. Schuester," Finn speaks up haltingly, "But, aren't the Beatles kind of…I dunno, old?"

"Finn's right," Mercedes says. "They made some classic music but, like, isn't the youngest member sixty now?"

"But you're forgetting the first rule of music, Mercedes," Will says, stripping off his sweater vest. "The classics never die. And the second rule of music: show, don't tell."

Brittany leans toward Santana, wearing a confused frown as she whispers, "I thought that was the first rule of writing."

"I'm gonna show you all how very _cool_ the Beatles still can be," Will adds, slipping the strap to the electric guitar over his head and motioning to the band. "Hit it!"

_What would you think if I sang out of tune,  
Would you stand up and walk out on me.  
Lend me your ears and I'll sing you a song,  
And I'll try not to sing out of key.  
Oh I get by with a little help from my friends,  
Mmm, I get high with a little help from my friends,  
Mmm, I'm gonna try with a little help from my friends._

Will goes around the room, singing to the kids as they clap and dance along. And when the second verse starts up, he and Sam alternate lines.

_What do I do when my love is away.  
Does it worry you to be alone  
How do I feel by the end of the day  
Are you sad because you're on your own  
No, I get by with a little help from my friends,  
Mmm, get high with a little help from my friends,  
Mmm, gonna to try with a little help from my friends_

The girls and boys line up on either side of the room with Will in the center, the girls taking the first part on the bridge.

_Do you need anybody?  
I just need someone to love.  
Could it be anybody?  
I want somebody to love_

Oh, I get by with a little help from my friends,  
Mmm, gonna try with a little help from my friends  
Ooh, I get high with a little help from my friends  
Yes I get by with a little help from my friends,  
with a little help from my friends…

Quinn edges her way over to Santana, gripping her elbow and whispering into her ear.

"Look, maybe you can use The Beatles as inspiration. John Lennon was as innovative as they come and they spewed love songs," she tells her with a half-smile. "Just a thought."

***o*O*o***

**Tuesday**

Just when Santana thought Rachel "How Often Do I Want to Hit You, Let Me Count the Days" Berry couldn't' get any more annoying she does crap like this.

Rachel clutches at her chest. "You want _me_? On the _Cheerios_? I'm…I'm…"

Santana holds up an open hand and then closes it, meaning for Rachel's mouth to do the same. "Save the speech for the Tonys okay. It's just temporary. You'll probably be back off within the week."

"It's just until Quinn comes back," Brittany adds with a nod.

"And what about me being on the Cheerios leads you to believe that Quinn'll come back?"

"Trust me. She will," Santana says, and Brittany adds under her breath, "If only to make sure that you meet the wrong end of a round off."

Rachel blanches. "What?"

"What Brittany means is you'll be encroaching on her turf, midget. She'll be back before you can say 'rah!'"

"Okay," Rachel says slowly, seeing their reasoning. "Well, what incentive do _I_ have to do this?"

"You consider yourself Quinn's friend right?"

Rachel shrugs demurely. "Well friend isn't _exactly_ how I'd put it."

"You'll be helping Quinn out," Santana continues. "She needs the Cheerios to get into a good school. Sure, she's got the grades and she's a pure blood or whatever, but, like, who gets into college on grades alone? Plus, she can't use glee club to bolster her academic resume. I mean," Santana swallows down the bile in her throat, "She's nowhere near as good as you Rachel."

"That's true," Rachel concedes, thinking it over and somehow missing Brittany rolling her eyes. "Okay, you guys. I'll do it."

"Great," Santana says, faux giddy smile in place.

"Excellent," Brittany echoes dryly.

***o*O*o***

Santana and Brittany are at lunch; laughing at something one of the other Cheerios girls is saying and attempting to be discreet while making eyes at one another.

Santana dips her spoon into her ranch dressing for the third time.

As you can tell, the discreetness is not working very well.

"So then I was like, Brody," the girl, Andrea, says dramatically, rolling her eyes and twirling a long strand of gum around her finger, "You can't do that in the back of an Aveo."

"Actually," Brittany says, finally honing in on the conversation, "You can."

The rest of the Cheerios laugh with scandal, playfully surprised, with gasped 'Brittany, you didn't's and 'oh my God's, but Santana doesn't sweat it.

Mainly because she can attest to that first hand.

"Pardon me, but could we borrow Brittany and Santana for one tiny minute?" Rachel asks timidly, standing foremost of the rest of the glee club.

"Um, excuse me," a blonde Cheerio, Tiffany, speaks up, "But this table is reserved for people who have a) reached puberty 2) lost their virginity and dos) do not have to use Nair on their face on a nightly basis."

Mike leans in to Tina. "Does she realize she didn't correctly label her third point?" he asks her quietly.

Lauren parts the group of kids, stepping forward menacingly before sliding onto the bench next to the 'smart'-ass cheerleader.

"Hi," Lauren says brightly, smiling at her. "You're very pretty."

The other girl pops a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "Thank…you," she says, though it sounds more like a question.

"Yep," Lauren says, nodding. "You look just like my Barbies did when I was little."

"…okay."

Lauren swoops in close to the girl then, Tiffany and the row of girls behind her all leaning away from the contact. "I used to twist the heads off of my Barbies," Lauren says darkly.

"Alrighty, then," Tiffany says, voice shaking. "I think I hear Coach Sylvester calling us," she says, pushing the girls behind her to get off the bench.

Andrea frowns, "But I don't hear anyth-"

"Move!" Tiffany yells, forcefully pushing her along, leaving the table empty save for Brittany and Santana.

Santana raises an awed brow. "Impressive, Lauren. I've never seen those girls run raster. And that's counting the time Coach trained those Doberman Pinchers to chase us around the race track."

"One of 'em tried to bite my bottom," Brittany mumbles through a pout.

"Well," Rachel says, settling in, "As mentally stimulating as that anecdote will undoubtedly be, how about we restrain from talking about Brittany's posterior and instead discuss Mr. Schue's assignment?"

Rachel pauses to look at the group, seemingly awaiting someone else to start the conversation but as soon as Mercedes opens her mouth-

"I'll go first," Rachel says, folding her hands neatly atop the table. "I think Mr. Schue's assignment…sucks."

Mike gasps.

Artie gasps.

"Rachel said the 's' word," Puck says.

Sam puts a hand on her shoulder. "Are you feeling okay, babe?"

"I'm fine," Rachel says, sounding frustrated, "Really and truly but could he not have picked a more difficult artist? I love the Beatles. I love their music, but the arrangements will never work with our vocal abilities and trying to choreograph any type of movement beyond swaying with our instruments is going be utterly impossible. So, I reiterate, Mr. Schue's assignment sucks."

"She said it again," Artie says, appalled.

"I know," Puck gloats, grinning cheekily. "It's hot."

Finn clears his throat loudly as Lauren slaps Puck across the back of his head, and even though he's still the designated co-captain of New Directions, it's been a while since he's spoken up about these things so he's a tad nervous.

"The only problem you have with Mr. Schue's assignment Rachel is that if we do go with a Beatles song you probably won't be highlighted in any of the numbers," Finn says, skipping cordiality and getting straight to his point. Rachel's jaw drops. "You know, no power ballads or showstoppers equal no spotlight for Rachel."

Mike coughs. "Burn."

"Watch it, Bro," Sam warns, stepping into the protective boyfriend role.

"I'm sorry Rachel but it's true," Mercedes says. "I should be equally as bummed but I'm not because there is no 'I' in team."

"All I'm saying is Mr. Schue has been stressing team unity all year and the thing that made the Beatles so freaking successful was that no one part was greater than the whole. Every member was important. Just like every person sitting at this table is important to our success," Finn explains, making sure he locks eyes at least once with everyone seated at the table.

"Finn's right," Quinn says, clasping his hand gently. "I say we forget about the 'competition' part of the assignment and put together a few group Beatles numbers and have Mr. Schue and Ms. Holliday pick from those."

"It'll be smashing," Sam says, full-on British accent going.

"I vote Santana's house for the venue," Brittany says gleefully, smile stretched across her face.

"Excuse me. I don't think so. I'm still technically grounded for the last glee-related gathering that took place at my house. The glitter from Kurt's jacket got everywhere," Santana frowns, crossing her arms.

"Come on, Santana," Finn pleads. "You've got the most practice space. Plus, your folks won't pry. The only other place large enough to host us is Rachel's house and her dads can be kind of imposing."

"If you can call a ten-minute solo interruption imposing," Mercedes mutters.

Sam turns to Rachel. "Finn's met your dads?" he asks quietly.

"So…" Rachel starts, turning to Santana with a forced smile, "How about Wednesday night?"

"Actually, no," Santana says, nervously scratching at her elbow and Brittany bites her lip, eyes darting down to stare at the table. "I've got something to do that night. But Thursday's good."

"Cool," Finn intones. "I'll bring my drum set."

"I'll bring my guitar," Sam says, casting a not so subtle smug look at Finn.

"And I'll bring the condoms," Puck adds, smirking.

They all groan.

"What?" Puck shrugs, feigning ignorance. "Not that type of party?"

***o*O*o***

"Whoa," Finn says, sitting down in front of the desk. "Quinn did say this place was kind of trippy."

"Hey man," Miss Holiday says, leaning back against her desk, "I gotta keep the good vibrations moving around here. Lord knows high school can depress the living hell out of you, what with the constant judging, the revolving romances, and the persistent urge to just go at it with on the next vertical or horizontal surface with the next living thing you come across. It's like going to school in a convent."

Finn quirks an eyebrow at the images that statement managed to provoke before he gets down to why he's here in the first place.

"So…you wanted to see me?"

"Right you are, Mr. Hudson. See, you're brighter than that dopey little face and spiky haircut give you credit for," Holly says, pushing herself up with her arms to sit on her desk. "See, apparently Principal Figgins thinks that being the guidance counselor should actually involve, you know, dispensing some guidance – crazy dude – and you just happened to be at the top of the list for the students that most need intervention. So here I am, bro," she concludes, punching him lightly on the arm. "'Sup?"

Finn smiles uneasily. "Nothing."

Holly narrows her eyes at him, head tilting slightly. "So everything's good?"

"Yeah. I mean, my grades are okay. The football team's doing okay. Glee club is okay. And Quinn and I are okay. So, yeah. Nothing's bad."

"Yeah but nothing's good, either. Listen up Mr. Hudson, 'cause Dr. Double H is about to drop some knowledge on you. Mediocrity's nice and all but what happens when senior year hits and your biggest accomplishment is that you were average at everything? I mean, the good thing about that is you're white so you can still be President but after that the only thing you'll be qualified to do is run the cleaning zamboni at Walmart."

"Uh, I guess I've never looked at it that way?" Finn shrugs, slightly uncomfortable with where this conversation is heading. He's never really given much thought to what he'd do _after_ high school because high school itself is this big, daunting daily challenge to stay un-slushied.

"Okay, Finn. Look. Close your eyes."

Finn does.

"Now, imagine what your life will be like in ten years…"

"_Honey, I'm home!" Finn calls into the house, breathing in deeply the scent of dinner cooking in the kitchen._

_He takes off his suit jacket and just manages to dispense of his brief case before Quinn comes breezing out of the kitchen, apron swaying gently as she walks._

"_Hello, darling. I missed you ever so," she says, kissing him gently on the cheek. "And so have the children."_

_Finn Jr. comes thundering down the stairs, his striped shirt smudged with just a smear of the chocolate bar he'd been eating earlier. "Daddy! Hi Daddy."_

"_Hiya sport," Finn says, his deep voice full of mirth. "Did you do well in school today?"_

"_Uh huh. I got five gold stars."_

"_That's excellent, buddy," Finn says, rustling his hair. Quinn leaves to continue tending to dinner. "Now, where's your sister?"_

"_She's up in her room doing girly stuff. Noel!" the young boy yells, tummy filling thing expelling a tremendous amount of air. "Daddy's home."_

"_Yay!" a young dark-haired girl says dryly, appearing at the top of the stairs. "Let's throw a parade."_

_Finn's smile falls into a confused frown and the bright lights dim just a bit. "What?"_

"_Yo, bro, you're back," a voice says from behind him and Finn turns to see an older version of Puck, same mohawk an everything, only the six-pack looks more like a keg. He's sopping wet and dripping water all over the carpet in the foyer._

_Puck grins, holding up a clump of something. "Cleaned the pool like you asked me."_

"_Hi, uncle daddy," Noel says from the stairs and suddenly, something clicks for dream Finn and it's only further solidified when his son tugs on his pants leg._

"_Daddy, can I get a mohawk too?"_

"Finn. Hudson, wake up!" Ms. Holiday says, shaking him firmly and Finn finally snaps out of it, his mouth snapping shut mid-snore. He blinks up at the guidance counselor, still sorting through the images and thoughts floating in his mind.

"Normally when people meditate they don't _fall asleep_," she says, exasperated – but really secretly glad she hadn't accidentally hypnotized the guy. The things you learn when you date a snake wrangler. "I hope you at least got some answers out of all of that."

Finn stares at her oddly for a moment, then his phone vibrates, breaking the trance.

It's a message.

It's from Quinn.

"I, uh…yeah, I gotta go."

***o*O*o***

**Wednesday**

"Ooh," Kurt gushes, reaching for Mercedes' hands and squeezing them with enthusiasm. "Can I please, please, please go too?"

"I don't know, Kurt. These are potentially our regionals songs and you _are_ the competition."

"I don't care," Kurt dismisses easily. "I'll quit Dalton tomorrow but I _have _to be there when you guys sing the Beatles. It's like me missing a Lady Gaga assignment."

Mercedes looks sheepish.

Kurt's jaw drops. "Oh my God, you didn't."

"Almost," Mercedes laughs out in answer. "But Puck got all bent out of shape about wearing a pleather jumpsuit so…"

Kurt's shoulders sag in relief before his eyes sharpen into a playful glare. "Our friendship was severely in question for a moment there."

"I'm sure," Mercedes mumbles, distracted by her phone's flashing screen. It's a call from Benjamin.

She side buttons him with a sigh.

"I'm sorry about…all of that you know," Kurt says, shrugging demurely. "He seemed like a good guy."

"It's no big deal," Mercedes shrugs, putting on her diva face. "Miss Jones is moving on to bigger and better. Just you wait and see."

Kurt smiles at her, though a little sadly. "I have no doubt in my mind about that. You're fabulousness is rival to none. Well, maybe mine," he corrects, rolling his eyes a little.

Mercedes laughs, tossing her head back as she drapes an arm around his shoulders. "You are so crazy."

***o*O*o***

_**It's funny how just doing something for the first time makes everything else seem new as well.**_

_**For instance, I've walked up Brittany's walkway probably close to a million times and I've never noticed how many steps it takes.**_

_**Mostly because those other times I was just breaking my neck to get inside but now…now I just want to savor the moment.**_

_**...and give my lungs a moment to catch up because oh my God I'm taking Brittany out on a date.**_

_**This is so surreal.**_

"What do you want?" Melanie asks, tongue poking out through the gaps in her teeth.

The question stumps Santana, not knowing just how much Brittany has shared with her family. "I'm here for Brittany."

"Well, duh," Brittany's little sister says, smacking heavily on some gum – it smells like Bazooka Joe. "You're always only ever here for Britters."

Any other time, Santana would be grabbing the mini-Brittany by her pigtails and shoving the lisp-tongued girl aside to get into the house but right now she's paralyzed, her nerves getting the better of her.

"Can you just…get her for me Melanie?" She lets out a breath when Melanie yells up the stairs, still staring at Santana oddly.

"Whatsa matter with you?" Melanie asks, peering up at the girl. "Aren't you happy to be going on a date with Britters?"

Santana's eyes widen. "She _told_ you?"

"I'm her sister," the little girl shrugs aloofly. "She tells me everything."

Santana shakes her head, even though she should know better. Brittany _does _tell Melanie everything – including the intricacies of sex when the little girl was about four years old. Thank God most of it went over her head. "I _am_ happy to be going out with Brittany."

"Then start lookin' like it," Melanie says, smiling that gap-toothed smile again.

Santana shakes her head again, this time at herself for being so nervous but then her heart picks up when Brittany's footsteps come thundering down the carpeted stairs.

The blonde slows as she gets to the door, her hair falling over her shoulders in cute cascading ringlets. "What are you doing here?" she asks.

All the blood drains from Santana's face. "What?"

"Just kidding," Brittany mumbles, face splitting in half with a gorgeous smile. "That was supposed to be my icebreaker," she explains, feeling bad about the panic still lingering over Santana's face. "Mike suggested…never mind," she waves it off, reaching a hand out for Santana's, "Are you ready to go?"

Santana takes deep breath, closing her eyes and counting to three silently before weaving her fingers together with Brittany's.

"Let's go."

***o*O*o***

Tina's in Artie's room, bored out of her mind, listening to the boy go on and on about Brittany.

It's all 'I remember when Brittany organized all my sweater vests from Urkel to Schuester.'

And 'I remember that one time when Brittany thought we should find tiny jackets for my mom's garden gnomes so they wouldn't catch cold.'

And the dreaded 'I remember when Brittany mounted me after I got an A on my bio test. Good times'.

Ugh.

Brittany's her friend and a great girl and all – and technically, she's doing her a huge favor by taking Artie off her hands – but it's not like the sun rises and sets out of her ass or anything.

Artie's being ridiculous.

She sighs, pulling her cell phone out of her purse before tapping out a quick message to Mike, smiling along half-heartedly when Artie gives her another Brittany anecdote.

_Wat r u doing? _she sends.

_On my way to _Lincoln Park_ with the boys_

_What boys?_

_Sam & Colin. Why what's up?_

Tina bites her lips, wondering if it'd be smart to share. _Artie's being annoying going on and on about Brittany._

_Lmao! Dude needs to let it go _Mike replies after a second or so. Then,_ Besides, Britt and Santana are unofficially officially on so…_

Tina's mouth falls open. _R u serious_

_Yup. Date night in the park. Its gonna be so romantic_

_I mean awesome._

_Forget about that other word I said._

_Lol. You are so silly. Oh well, I'll let you get back to your boys_

_Alright. Later Ch-chang!_

Tina snaps her phone closed, the wheels turning in her head.

Maybe there's a way all of this can benefit _her_ as well.

"Hey Artie?" she interrupts him, fighting hard to contain her smirk.

"Yo?" Artie asks, fiddling with a bow tie covered with little rainbows – it was a gift from Brittany.

"I feel like going for a little walk," she says, pushing herself up to stand. "Do you wanna join?"

***o*O*o***

Santana pulls into an empty parking space and shuts off the car, pulling out the keys and nervously shuffling them from one hand to the other.

"This is the park," Brittany announces, looking around.

"Yeah," Santana breathes, feeling a little stupid now. She turns to face Brittany, but her eyes won't meet the other girl's. Santana's seemingly content to stare at her forehead. "It's just, you know, a lot of firsts for us happened here. First time we met. First time we _really_ hung out-"

"First kiss," Brittany interrupts softly, craning her neck so that she finally meets Santana's gaze. She smiles warmly. "I remember."

**_**Start of Flashback**_**

"_Don't laugh Britt-Britt."_

"_Okay," Brittany nods, shifting on her thighs and setting her face. "I won't this time I swear."_

_Santana leans in again, the air between them hot and scented like Santana's father's bourbon._

_She's so close that she can count every one of Brittany's freckles and every different color fleck of blue in her eyes. "On one, okay?" she whispers._

_And Brittany nods, her eyes darting down to Santana's lips once before she swallows. "Okay."_

_Santana starts the countdown, "Three…two…on-"_

_Brittany snorts, tipping forward and leaning her forehead against Santana's, quiet laughter shaking her body as her best friend groans in frustration._

"_Do you wanna do this or not, Brittany?" Santana asks, not nearly as amused as her blonde counterpart._

"_I do, San. I really do. But you get so close and my eyes are open and then it looks like you're crossing yours and…" she dissolves into giggles again and Santana rolls her eyes, annoyed._

"_Fine," she huffs, moving to push herself to her feet. "Come find me when you're done laughing at my face."_

"_C'mon San," Brittany says, quickly sobering and reaching a hand for Santana's wrist before she can flee. "How about this? How about I close my eyes? Then I won't see you so I won't know it's coming and I can't laugh. How about that?"_

"_I dunno, Britt," Santana says, seriously worried about the kiss now. She's not sure why but kissing with eyes closed seems so much more serious than and open-eyed peck between besties._

_It makes her stomach quiver._

"_No, come on," Brittany says, gesturing for her to come forward again. "This'll work."_

_Brittany closes her eyes, her hands folded neatly against her knees as she waits and Santana freezes momentarily before she shakes herself and carries on._

_It seems like she's leaning forever until she reaches Brittany – and she keeps her eyes open to the last possible moment because she'd die if she'd missed – but when she does, her entire mind goes blank._

_She can't hear the rustling leaves or the chirping crickets, she feels weightless and numb except for the place where she's joined with Brittany, warm lips pressed gently against warm lips._

_And then it's over._

_They both pull away at the same time, Brittany blinking her eyes open before Santana's._

"_That was..." Brittany says and Santana's eyes pop open, eyeing her warily._

"…_awesome," Brittany finally concludes, a dorky grin taking residence on her face. "I think we should do that again."_

"_Brittany," Santana says, her voice tinged with an odd mixture of shyness, relief, and bravado. "We can't-" _

_Brittany pokes a finger to her chest, pushing her over and then toppling down after her. She pauses, hovering over a shocked yet prone Santana, the hand not holding her body up traces over warm lips and Brittany's own quirk up in a soft smile. "Just…shut up, Santana."_

_****End of Flashback****_

"Yeah, I should've known right then and there that we were something different," Santana says, adorning a rueful expression.

"Hey," Brittany says gently, moving her hands to cradle Santana's face. "No sad time. Just happy time. First date remember?"

Santana smiles as much as she can with her cheeks being smushed. "How could I forget?"

***o*O*o***

"Tina," Artie says, still wheeling himself along. "It's getting kind of late. Maybe I should roll you home."

"Just a little bit longer, Artie, please?" Tina pleads, her eyes still roaming the park. "It's just…being out here really helps me clear my head, you know?"

"Okay," he concedes with a smile. "But like, ten more minutes max. My butt's getting numb."

***o*O*o***

"So, I wanted to do the sappy romantic thing. You know, picnic in the park, under the stars, a private band," Santana tells her, once they've reached the destination. It's just small clearing in the grass: a blanket, a picnic basket, and some tea lights candles are the highlights. She motions for Brittany to sit down on the blanket before she follows suit, taking off both her and Brittany's shoes. "Only, my funds are kind of limited so I had to get these lames. Also, the song selection is courtesy of Mr. Schue," she tacks on the end, hesitantly but determinedly reaching for Brittany's hand, face lighting up when Brittany gives it a squeeze, confused.

Santana smiles and turns to a small clump of trees and one after one; Sam, Colin, and Mike all emerge.

"Couldn't have gotten here a little bit sooner, Santana?" Colin asks, a little cranky. The numerous leaves in his hair might have something to do with that.

"Can you guys just sing the song, please?" Santana asks through gritted teeth, remaining pleasant only for Brittany's benefit.

Sam starts plucking away at the guitar and they both are shocked when Colin, not Sam, takes the lead.

_There are places I'll remember  
All my life though some have changed  
Some forever not for better  
Some have gone and some remain  
All these places have their moments  
With lovers and friends I still can recall  
Some are dead and some are living  
In my life I've loved them all_

Santana meets Brittany's eyes and they scoot a little closer to one another, Brittany leaning her head on Santana's shoulder, even if the angle is a little awkward.

But of all these friends and lovers  
There is no one compares with you  
And these memories lose their meaning  
When I think of love as something new  
Though I know I'll never lose affection  
For people and things that went before  
I know I'll often stop and think about them  
In my life I love you more

They reach the break in the song and Brittany grins, turning to Santana with a sly brow raised. "Dance with me?" she asks, shimmying her shoulders.

"'Kay," Santana says, chuckling when Brittany squeals and hurries to her feet. She pulls Santana up by her hands and into her arms, and soon they're swaying to the music, underneath the stars.

_Though I know I'll never lose affection  
For people and things that went before  
I know I'll often stop and think about them  
In my life I love you more  
In my life I love you more_

***o*O*o***

"Artie. Artie, come here. Look," Tina says, pointing in the distance.

He wheels over, squinting through his glasses and through the darkness. "What…what is that?"

"It looks like," she plays along, pretending to mull it over, "Brittany and Sa-"

"Brittany," Artie interrupts jubilantly, instantly taking off in their direction before Tina can stop him.

And if she's said it once, she'll say it again, the kid is damn fast in that wheelchair.

***o*O*o***

The song concludes and Brittany slows them to a stop, pulling her head back to look at Santana with a face the brunette couldn't even begin trying to describe. "I can't believe you did all this for me."

"I," Santana shrugs as the guys quietly file away, "I wanted it to be perfect."

Brittany smiles. "Just you would have been perfect. This," she looks around, "This is so past perfect and we haven't even eaten yet."

Santana smirks, finally relaxed. "Peanut butter and pixie stixx sandwiches, baby," she says smugly, her arms slung low around Brittany's hips.

"See?" Brittany says through a glittering smile. "You could never do it wrong."

Artie's wheelchair crawls to a stop. "Brittany?"

The girls turn in time to see Tina running up to them, fighting to catch her breath. "Sorry…tried to…he's fast…"she pants, hands on her knees as she's doubled over.

"Oh, hi Artie," Brittany says brightly.

He doesn't say anything, but his eyes observe: observe the way Brittany's body is pressed against Santana's, observes the way Santana's arms are draped possessively around Brittany, and – mostly – he observes the way there are no guys in sight.

"Um, what are you staring at, you freak?" Santana snaps, annoyed at his – or really their – sudden presence.

"San," Brittany scolds gently.

"N-nothing," Artie stutters, lowering his eyes. "Nothing. We were just leaving."

***o*O*o***

Blaine swan dives onto his bed, searching the blankets and sheets for his ringing cell phone.

"Hello?" he questions, answering without looking because it was already on its fourth ring.

"_Mr. Anderson_," Kurt drawls in a perfect imitation of the guy from _The Matrix_.

"Why, hello Mr. Hummel," Blaine smiles into his cell phone's speaker, "I wasn't expecting a call from you this evening; At least not _another_ call."

"_Oh? Well I guess I could just hang up then_."

"Don't you dare," Blaine threatens lightly, turning over onto his back and staring at the ceiling. "So what's up?"

"_I wanted to see if you would be available tomorrow evening for a friendly gathering of sorts_."

"I will be available as soon as Warblers practice lets out. As will you. But, let's hear some more details on this gathering."

"_Okay, well it's at Santana's house. The New Directions crew will be there plus I think, Colin. And, get this, they're doing – wait for it – The Beatles_."

"Whoa," Blaine says through a surprised laugh. "That's…ambitious."

"_Yeah_," Kurt replies dryly. "_That's why I'm going. I think they're gonna need all the help they can get. So…are you in_?"

"Now why would I, Blaine Anderson – sworn Warbler – knowingly participate in an activity that will undoubtedly help our school's competition?"

"_Um…because your boyfriend asked you and you think he's really cute_?"

"When did Bradley Cooper ask me?"

"…_I'm hanging up now_."

Blaine laughs. "I'm kidding, obviously. Bradley Cooper isn't even gay."

"_Total waste of tan if you ask me_."

"Agreed. So, we're walking over together?"

"_Actually, Dad wants me to do some stuff at the shop after practice tomorrow so I'll probably just catch a ride with Finn_."

"Okay. I'll see you tomorrow then? Second period?"

"_Of course. I'll be the guy with stars in his eyes_."

"I'll be the boy with a heart full of joy."

A beat.

"_Blaine_?"

"Yeah Kurt?"

"_We're really _really_ gay aren't we_?"

"Like bleached loafers and chinos, Kurt."

***o*O*o***

"So," Santana says, her hand still clasped in Brittany's as they stand at Brittany's door, "Here we are."

"At my door," Brittany adds.

They both look at each other before cracking up in laughter.

"We're being so weird," Santana says, wiping her eyes.

"_You're_ being weird," Brittany argues, still chortling. "I'm being Brittany."

Santana grins, suddenly feeling a little playful. She untangles her hand from Brittany's and wraps her arms around Brittany's waist, her fingers interlocking at the base of Brittany's spine. She pulls Brittany closer. "Are you?"

"Of course," Brittany says, like this is common knowledge. "And you're being Santana – uncut."

Santana gazes at Brittany like she's made up of all of the good things in the world. "You're so smart, Brittany. You know me better than anyone. Better than I know myself."

"Maybe," Brittany says coyly. She moves her hands, dragging them up Santana's arms and over shoulders until their resting on her face. "I wish I knew what you were thinking right now. Because then I'd know if you wanted me to make the first move or not."

"I think I've got it covered," Santana says, leaning forward and molding her lips to fit Brittany's.

***o*O*o***

**Thursday**

Quinn's already stepping outside when Finn shows up to her house, hands shoved deep into his pockets. "You're late," she says while reaching up, intent on brushing a kiss to his lips.

"Do you love me?" he asks her.

Quinn pauses midway, stunned, before breaking into a smile as she attempts to proceed. "Don't ask silly questions," she murmurs but Finn's hands are quick as they pull hers away from his face.

"Do you love me?" he asks again.

And she throws it right back at him. "Do you love _me_?"

Finn looks away, swallowing thickly and she takes that as her cue to continue. "Let's be real, Finn. The reason we're together is because it's the way it's _supposed_ to be. We don't have this epic, moving love because the story's already written for us. So if you really want to know how it's going to be, I'll tell you. We're gonna get our diplomas, go to college. You'll get a job where you have to wear a suit and I'll navigate the social ins-and-outs of suburbia. We'll get married and have babies and go to church every Sunday. We'll have cookouts and family vacations and-"

"You'll be fucking the pool boy," Finn says darkly, eyes narrowing as Quinn's jaw drops.

"I've read the book too, Quinn. We've both lived it," he says quietly, his voice having lost its acidity. "I don't really like how the story ends. Do you?"

"I…" Quinn shrugs. "I don't know what you want me to say."

"Say you love me," Finn practically pleads, his voice breaking.

Quinn looks him in the eye, gulping then steadying her voice. "I love you."

Finn's eyes close and he moves closer to her, hands gently holding her face as he looks down at her. "Now tell me you're in love with me."

Quinn's lower lips trembles and she bites her lip as her eyes close but she remains silent.

"Yeah," Finn says quietly, nodding a little, his forehead still pressed up against hers. "Yeah, okay. I'll see you at Santana's."

Finn walks down the driveway, turning up his coat collar when the wind picks up. Someone's wind vane is broken and the clunky, banging sounds remind him of the rhythm in a song he had just been listening to – due to Mr. Scheuster's assignment of course – and before Finn can ever register what's happening, he's singing the first verse.

_Anna,  
You come and ask me, girl,  
To set you free, girl,  
You say he loves you more than me,  
So I will set you free,  
Go with him.  
Go with him._

_Anna,  
Girl, before you go now,  
I want you to know, now,  
That I still love you so,  
But if he loves you mo',  
Go with him._

All of my life,  
I've been searchin' for a girl  
To love me like I love you.  
Oh, now.. But every girl I've ever had,  
Breaks my heart and leave me sad.  
What am I, what am I supposed to do.  
Oh...

_Anna,  
Just one more thing, girl.  
You give back your ring to me, and I will set you free,  
Go with him._

_Go with him._

***o*O*o***

Angel pokes his head into the basement. "What are you doing?"

"Having some friends over," Santana answers, pouring a bag of ice into the plastic tub.

"Is one of those friends Quinn Fabray?" he asks her, small sheepish smile on his face.

Santana snorts, grunting with the exertion of standing upright again. "What is it with you and Quinn Fabray?"

"What can I say?" Angel shrugs, taking a few tentative steps down the stairs. "I guess we're not so different; you and me."

Santana's smile falls, her lips pressing into a thin line. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Angel doesn't say anything until he's standing in front of her, gently taking the empty ice bag out of her hands. "We both have a thing for blondes."

She gasps but he holds his hand up, silencing her before she can go into defense mode. "It's not a big deal, Tana. I don't care."

"You don't?" she asks him dismissively, like she doesn't know what they're talking about but he's twelve; not stupid.

"Nah. Your still my big sister and – aw man – I still, you know, love you," Angel begrudgingly says before he's being wrapped up in the tightest hug ever.

"Gracias Angelito," she whispers, still hugging him firmly.

"You're welcome but…I can't…breathe."

***o*O*o***

"It was the. Best. First. Date. Ever," Brittany gushes, dancing up the street with Mike and Sunshine in tow.

Mike laughs, arm still draped over Sunshine's shoulders. "Was it really?"

"Yes. You should've seen her Mike. She was so nervous and cute. And when she took me home-"

"Whoa, details Britt," Mike interrupts, hands going to his ears. "I don't need 'em. I'm not Puck."

"I know you're not Puck. Besides, there's nothing to tell. We kissed said good night and that was that."

"Seriously?"

"Why is that so hard to believe?"

"It's not that it's hard to believe it's just…well, it's you two," Mike explains as gently as he can.

Brittany's eyes turn a little shy. "It's different now," she says as they turn onto Santana's block. "We're…different now."

"Don't I know it," Mike smirks, nodding his head towards the distance where Santana's standing out in front of her house, eyes trained down the street in the opposite direction – the way Brittany would be coming if she was coming from her house and not the dance studio.

"San!" Brittany yells, taking off into a full sprint and in five seconds flat she's got her arms full of Santana. "Hey."

"Hey," Santana mumbles into Brittany shoulder, chuckling cutely. "I was waiting for you."

"Yeah?" Brittany asks her, pulling back.

"Yeah," Santana answers bashfully. Mike and Sunshine are just walking up, taking their time in order to give the two girls their privacy.

"Go on in guys. Finn's already setting up his drums and there are drinks and snacks on the tables," Santana tells them. "Oh and if the little kid in there gets on your nerves, just threaten to do something to either and Xbox or PS3 and you're golden."

"Okay," Mike laughs, pulling Sunshine along.

Brittany goes to follow them but Santana tugs her back.

"Hang on, Britt. I wanted to ask you something."

Brittany waits, ever patient, as Santana seemingly sorts her shit in her mind.

"You see…I was thinking…I mean, it just makes sense…Be my girlfriend."

Santana looks so worried, barely breathing with her eyebrows scrunched together anxiously.

Brittany thinks she looks cute.

Slowly, the blonde smiles – a bewitching, knowing smile. "'bout time, Lopez."

***o*O*o***

Kurt's in the convenience store, perusing the snack aisle when his cell goes off, the familiar ringtone bringing a smile to his face instantly.

"Hey there," he chirps.

"_Hey. I'm like ten minutes away, where are you_?"

"Oh," Kurt says, rolling his eyes. "The thing with my dad ran a little long so I missed a ride with Finn and had to take…public transportation. I didn't get a chance to eat so I'm refueling at the local stop n' shop."

"_Are you gonna be okay? You want me to come meet you? I'm on foot, too_."

"Aww, look at you," Kurt swoons, picking through the bags of chips obliviously. "Swooping into the role of protective boyfriend."

Blaine chuckles, abashed. "_I'm serious_," he insists.

"I know. But no," Kurt answers, grabbing a few items and starting toward checkout. "I'm fine. Did you want me to get anything?"

"_Do they sell Kurt kisses_?"

Kurt blushes, moving past a couple of thuggish wannabes. They look like Eminem video rejects. "I'll ask the attendant."

Blaine laughs, loudly. "Please, don't _do that_."

"See you in a few."

"_Counting the seconds_."

Kurt blushes one more time before handing his items over to the clerk, reaching into his pocket for a five dollar bill and burying his phone back inside.

"You can really pack it away, huh?" the clerk asks, smiling kindly.

"Oh my God, you have no idea," Kurt says, voice heavy with exaggeration. "I positively famished."

The clerk collects his change and hands him a plastic bag with his merchandise. "You take care of yourself, okay," the clerk says pointedly.

The expression on the man's face is one that looks familiar but Kurt can't exactly place it. It doesn't matter because he nods anyway, walking out of the store as quickly as he had come in…

…never noticing the two guys that file out right after him.

***o*O*o***

"This is so hard," Mike grumbles, eyes doing numb after looking at sheet after sheet of music. "Things were so much simpler when Mr. Schue just made us sing _Journey_ songs."

"I like The Beatles," Tina says. "Their songs are so pretty."

"Yeah, well, their band name's not," Brittany says, sitting cross-legged on the floor. "They couldn't have come up with something nicer like The Ladybugs?"

"Yeah, 'cause The Ladybugs are just _so_ bad ass," Puck says, tuning his guitar.

"You know what the problem is," Rachel says, pen poised at her mouth while she sits on Sam's lap. "Mr. Schuester picked such a prolific artist. There's just too much to choose from."

"Well," Mercedes offers cryptically, "Why don't we just late fate decide?"

"Meaning?" Santana prompts.

"We put a Beatles playlist on shuffle. First three songs on the list are the ones we're singing," Mercedes clarifies, connecting her iPod to Santana's iHome.

"That's an excellent idea, Mercedes," Quinn grins, nodding enthusiastically.

And it would've been if the first song to come up wasn't _Eleanor Rigby._

"_O_kay," Artie says, after the first verse passes. "That's just depressing."

"Yeah, Wheezy," Santana concurs, stopping the song. "I veto your idea. We want to entertain people, not make them want to commit suicide."

"Well, I don't see you coming up with any grand ideas," Mercedes snaps back.

Brittany sighs, slumping back against the couch and pouting. "We need help."

"That's it," Finn gasps, snatching up a guitar and clumsily plucking out a chord.

"_Help, I need somebody_," he croons, slowly moving on to the next note. "_Help, not just anybody_."

Puck and Sam join in on the next line.

"_Help, you know I need someone,  
Help!"_

It doesn't take long, but the group gradually joins in, Sam taking over Finn's guitar and Puck plucking his own, while Finn gets going on his drum set as they put a New Directions spin on the song.

***o*O*o***

Blaine's waiting at a stoplight, hands in his pockets when he's joined by-

"Sup bro?"

"Colin," Blaine says, failing to keep the slight disdain out of his tone. "Kurt said you might be coming."

Colin laughs humorlessly. "You don't sound too happy about that."

Blaine cuts his eyes at him, and then looks away. "I wonder why that is."

"Look guy, Kurt and I are just friends. Honest to truth. He's your boyfriend and…I'm not that kind of guy," Colin says as they start across the street. "Truce?" he asks, once they reach the other side.

Blaine looks down at the proffered hand, internally debating for a moment before taking it. "Truce."

***o*O*o***

"Hey!"

Kurt turns around, sees the two guys from the store and quickens his pace.

"Hey! You! We're talking to you!" they continue to call and he breaks out into a full run.

But these guys are freaks of nature or something and in no time flat they've gained on him, standing in front of him before Kurt can even comprehend it.

"What do you want?" he asks, afraid.

"Nothing, homes. We was just wondering…you ain't from around here is you?" one guy asks, his black jeans hanging severely low. Kurt vaguely wonders if guys would wear their pants so low if they knew the history behind it before he shakes his head.

"No…no but I have friends around here," he manages to stammer out. "So, I wouldn't try anything if I were you."

"Relax ese. We just having a nice conversation," the same guy says, keeping his voice calm and smooth.

To be honest, Kurt's not worried about him.

But the big burly dude standing mute beside him is wearing the most sadistic grin Kurt's ever seen.

"You got a boyfriend?" the big guy finally asks and his voice is rough, deep.

"I…I…I…" Kurt stammers.

"I-I-I…it's not a hard question, bro. Do. You have. A boyfriend?" the big guy asks, stepping forward.

Kurt just quivers, non-speaking.

"You do, right?" the guy says, almost shaking. "Are you a fucking faggot?"

Kurt flinches at the loud slur, like he's been slapped.

"I think he is," the first guy says, joining the game now. His mask is off and now Kurt sees them both for who they really are.

"Maybe we should show him what we do to fags who come in our hood."

***o*O*o***

Sam dances around the room, singing the first verse, Puck and Mike joining in on harmonies.

"_When I was younger, so much younger than today,  
I never needed anybody's help in any way.  
But now these days are gone, I'm not so self-assured,  
Now I find I've changed my mind, I've opened up the doors._

Help me if you can, I'm feeling down  
And I do appreciate you being 'round.  
Help me get my feet back on the ground,  
Won't you please, please help me?"

…

"Help!" Kurt bellows, cringing as another kick connects with his ribs.

…

"_Help!_" Brittany and Santana shout at one another, smiles a mile wide.

…

Colin pauses, hand outstretched to stop Blaine as well. "Did you hear that?"

…

"_I need somebody_," Rachel and Tina sing together, leaning into one another.

…

Another fist connects with Kurt's chin and he curls in on himself, not knowing which area to protect most. "Help," he whimpers.

…

Blaine quirks an eyebrow. " Sounds like…"

…

"_Not just anybody_," Puck sings.

…

Colin starts off in a jog, following the shouts. "Someone's calling for-"

…

"_HEEEEELP_!" They all scream/sing, dancing as the music plays.

…

"Someone help me please!" Kurt manages to yell, even though he's hurting badly.

***o*O*o***

"Guys!" Colin yells, crashing into the quasi-concert and the music dies down instantly. "Come quick. It's Kurt."

* * *

**All the songs referenced in this chapter belong to _The Beatles_**


	19. Chapter 19

**Disclaimer: **Don't own. Just borrowing.

**Author's Note: **Apologies for the super long delay. Those of you I keep in touch with on a regular know exactly why I was so scarce. Special thanks to my homie for helping with the Spanish in this. She knows who she is. Also, mostly un-beta'd so all mistakes are my own so I apologize for that as well. Lastly, GO BEARS! For those of you still reading (and hopefully reviewing), thanks for doing so.

**Note:** I know that while all of these are Beatles songs and nothing beats the classics and blah, blah, blah, I prefer that you guys read this with the more modernized versions of the songs in mind – preferably the way they were sung in _Across the Universe_. And while it's not necessary, it might make it a little more relatable? Possibly? I don't know. Humor me, I guess, lol.

* * *

**Previously in **_**Life and Other Concepts**_**:** Will has an epiphany of the Beatles variety – while Miss Holiday is in his shower no less. Wanky.

Rachel, determined to be the best friend to Quinn she possibly can, agreed to join the Cheerios so now she'll be like, popular. Fuinn is no more and Santana's got a toe out of the closet and Brittany is her…well…check it out.

"_You see…I was thinking…I mean, it just makes sense…Be my girlfriend."_

_Santana looks so worried, barely breathing with her eyebrows scrunched together anxiously._

_Brittany thinks she looks cute. _

_Slowly, the blonde smiles – a bewitching, knowing smile. "'bout time, Lopez."_

And then this happened…

_Another fist connects with Kurt's chin and he curls in on himself, not knowing which area to protect most. "Help," he whimpers._

And now, you're all caught up.

***o*O*o***

Will looks around the silent music room, reading all the somber expressions on everyone's faces like a book.

It's been exactly one week since what happened happened and still it seems inconceivable.

Still; even though there's visual and auditory proof every morning, afternoon, and evening when the Lima News airs and a new advocacy group turns up at McKinley.

_The Incident_, which is what everyone's calling it, has brought all of the unwanted (and mostly unwarranted) attention to Lima, Ohio and it seems like every talking head has an opinion about it.

Including one of the sponsors of the Ohio Show Choir Committee.

And, unfortunately for the New Directions squad, he has the wrong one.

Will looks helplessly at the dry erase board, the word REGIONALS in big block letters, seemingly mocking him.

_Why'd the biggest contributor to the committee have to be the hugest, antiquated, homophobe in existence?_

It's like God's mocking him.

No, wait, that's Sue.

"God, it must suck to be you William. You're like the little engine – with a hideous hair cut and an addiction to poorly designed sweater vests – that couldn't. Every time you think you're about to 'toot, toot' up that mountain something knocks you on your invariably flat though still disturbingly firm buttocks. Now, usually, that's my job. But, fortunately for me, someone else has taken the baton in the 'I hate Will Schuester fan club', affording me more time to prepare my speech for when I inevitably achieve _world domination_."

Sue smirks at his bewildered expression and, even though it would feel so good – so _right_ – to stand over him and gloat, she manages a small ounce of compassion.

"Now listen up glee kids, I am as saddened by what happened to Porcelain as the next person, but the fact remains that you're obviously not going to place at regionals and then all of the money Figgins has trickling into this High School Musical wannabe club will go back to its rightful owner: Moi."

"Now, wait a minute Sue," Will says, interrupting her tyrannical rant, "Who says we won't place at regionals?"

"Well, William, I'm not sure if you know how this works or not, but in order to win anything you have to participate. It's not one of your _Hair Gel R' Us _sweepstakes," Sue explains, ignoring as Will rolls his eyes at the dig. "You're not actually considering _competing_ are you?"

"I…" Will starts, looking around at the eyes of his kids, "…we haven't decided yet. Actually, I was just getting ready to pose the question to my kids so if you'd please leave-"

"Say no more," Sue interrupts. "Literally stop talking. Your perpetually congested-sounding voice is making me nauseous. Enjoy what I am sure will be an emotional entreaty for togetherness and harmony, glee kids. It'll be one of your last."

And with that, Sue leaves the room, a snickering Becky Jackson following after her.

"Okay," Will starts, clapping his hands together once and turning his attention back to his students, "Now that Coach Sylvester has flown away on her _broom_-"

"I heard that!"

"I can finally talk to you guys about Regionals. Now, I know it's been a tough couple of weeks for all of you, but, the competition's this weekend and Principal Figgins has – for once – been extremely interested in what we're going to do."

"Well," Mike shrugs, looking around, "What _are_ we going to do?"

"That's…actually up to you guys," Will says. "Kurt was member of this group and he's still a dear friend to all of you, so I wouldn't be surprised if you guys wanted to boycott this competition to show your support. I also know that you guys have worked really hard this year and that you'd have an excellent shot at Nationals. But what I want you to know is that this decision will be yours and yours alone. Whatever you decide, you'll have my full support – not only as your choir director but as your friend," he adds, using his most sincere, serious voice.

"Whatever we decide," Rachel parrots, confused frown on her face. "You aren't seriously considering leaving this decision to us."

"I'm past considering Rachel. You guys are young adults now and unfortunately that involves making some tough decisions from time to time; decisions with no clear-cut right or wrong answers. But I believe in you guys and I'm sure you'll have no problem working it out amongst yourselves."

***o*O*o***

"I am sorry but Mr. Schuester has watched one too many afterschool specials. Who does he think he is, Mrs. Frizzle?"

Sam looks on as she closes her locker door so hard it rattles for several seconds after.

"Well I think he's taking the right approach in giving us the light saber. It's _our_ futures on the line here," Sam says, casually slipping her books from under her arm. "But enough about that; When were you planning on explaining your outfit to me?"

Rachel stops short, looking down at her red-and-white ensemble with a bashful smile, the patented WMHS standing prominently – though not as prominently as _others_ – across her chest. "Do you like it?"

"Hard not to," Sam admits with a grin. "But, like, _why_ are _you_ wearing it? Is it 'cosplay as your mortal nemesis at school' day, 'cause if so there's totally a _Red Skull_ costume with my name on it. Or maybe a Darth Maul? I don't know, would you say I'm more of a brash, All-American, spandex-sporter or a robe-wearing, Zen-like, swordsman?"

"Samuel," Rachel says gently, looking at him fondly, "I love it when you think I understand those strange things you talk about. You look so incredibly endearing. But no," Rachel assures him, before she drops the big shocker, "I'm…I joined the Cheerios."

Sam looks at her for a moment before laughing, loudly. "No you did not."

"I did so. We have practice this afternoon which is both convenient and spectacular because now I don't have to wait for you behind the dumpsters so that the football team doesn't douse me with those frozen flavored ice bombs."

That stops Sam mid-Ha.

"Holy cheese n' crackers; you're serious?" he asks, worriedly gawking at her but his jaw snaps shut instantly when Santana pokes him in his puffed up cheek.

"Why so pouty, Trouty?" she asks, stepping up to the pair and making sure to leave at least two body widths between herself and Brittany. "Did someone tell you they're cancelling _Battlestar Gallactica_…" she turns to Rachel darkly, "…_before me_?"

"Nice try Santana," he starts with a smirk, "But I was on the message boards last period. And can I just say I love that you remember that's one of my favorite shows? Makes me feel special."

"That's because she likes you," Brittany admits casually with an aloof shrug and Santana turns to look at her, astounded.

"Brittany?!" she squeals and Brittany just laughs, her unbridled joy almost contagious.

"What?" she asks coyly, knowing exactly what Santana wants to say, but instead her friend reins in her smile, turning back to a gloating Sam and – possibly constipated – Rachel.

"Disregard that _entirely_. I don't want you getting any ideas. It's bad enough that I'm seen cavorting with you losers from time to time," she snaps, flicking her ponytail. "There's only so many times you can site 'donating your coolness to the needy' and get away with it."

"Santana," Brittany warns gently, nudging her elbow surreptitiously and Santana settles, collecting herself.

"B.J.," she says, turning to Rachel, meaning Barbara Junior of course. "Practice has gone from a half hour to a full hour long, Coach's orders. So make sure you, your high pony, and those surprisingly amazing-looking legs of yours are on the field at three P.M. sharp. Are we clear?"

Rachel nods. "Absolutely. Three P.M."

***o*O*o***

"Hey Santana!" Quinn calls, jogging up the hallway when she finally sees the other girl. "Got a minute?"

Santana eyes her warily. "Have you seen Rachel yet today?"

"No," Quinn answers, her eyebrows pinching together in perplexity, "Why?"

"No reason," Santana says airily, closing her locker and hiding a smirk. "What's up, Q?"

"I… okay don't judge me, alright? But, I need advice-"

"Yes, those socks you're wearing do make it look like you have cankles."

"About boys," Quinn continues on as if Santana hadn't even spoken.

Quinn looks on as Santana essentially pales – something she previously hadn't thought was possible – before screwing a carefully-crafted nonplussed look on her face; a look that just screams 'I'm trying too hard to appear casual'.

"What about them?" the girl asks, infinitely interested in her nails.

Quinn pushes on. "Let's just say that you used to maybe sort of see this guy, and maybe back then he wasn't so bad, especially when you guys were just one-on-one, but then like, the timing was all wrong and he was completely immature, but, you still maybe kind of like him?" she explains, possibly. She frowns, her question puzzling even herself. "What would you do?"

Santana's eyes widen. "I don't know."

"C'mon Santana," Quinn almost whines, grabbing her friend's hand and realizing for the first time how clammy it is.

Is Santana nervous?

Why's Santana nervous?

"Wha-"

"Stop it," Santana hisses snatching her hand away and peering around the crowded hallway worriedly, relaxing just a tad when she realizes no one's noticed and that's when it dawns on Quinn.

She smiles at her friend, gently. "It's not that big of a deal," she offers quietly, waiting patiently for Santana to meet her eyes. "Just because they're not your cup of tea we can still talk about relationships and stuff. People are people, you know?"

Something in Santana's posture unscrews for a moment but then just as quickly the mask slips back on and her guard goes up. "I don't know what you're rambling about Fabray but if you want to start eating Kosher again, do it. Just keep the details about you and your foray into the land of Puckery to yourself, comprendes? I don't need any gross visuals running around my head when I'm-" Santana cuts herself off, flicking her pony and Quinn hides a chuckle. "I don't need the visuals."

"As you wish," Quinn says with a smirk, stopping just outside Santana's classroom. "Hey, is that Brittany?"

"Where?" Santana asks, eyes rapidly searching the halls until she sees Quinn's shoulders shaking with quiet laughter.

She narrows her eyes and marches into the classroom without another word, leaving Quinn alone and highly amused.

***o*O*o***

Rachel ducks her head a little bit, squeezing by between Azimio and Karofsky seemingly unnoticed – they actually part to let her pass, still grunting about something unintelligible and probably gross – on her way to fifth period but before she can breathe a sigh of relief.

"Hold up," Azimio says loudly, jogging back until he's standing in front of Rachel and peering down at her oddly. "Yo, Dave. Check this out."

Rachel stands there, scouring the hallway for an escape or a friend, but there are no red and white skirts swishing around nearby and everyone else is shrinking down smaller than her, trying to avoid the wrath she's going to have to endure.

She glances worriedly at the tall plastic cups sweating condensation in their hands.

"Um…Rachel?" Dave starts hesitantly. "You're a Cheerio?"

It takes Rachel a moment to realize that they're speaking to her and not barking at her but she raises her chin and faces them dead on. "Yes I am."

"Dude, what do we do?" Karofsky whispers to Azimio frantically but his friend is just as bewildered by the whole thing.

"I dunno. This has never happened before. People don't, like, up their coolness in high school. You start at one level of cool, like a given, and then work your way down," he explains, scratching his temple. "This ain't in the rulebook man."

"Well, okay," Dave tries to reason out. "Rachel is in Glee, which is like super-mega lame points, okay? Ergo, we slushy her face."

He makes to toss his cup at her but Azimio grabs his arm, a clump of artificially-flavored frozen slush falling harmlessly to the linoleum floor.

"I don't know what 'ergo' means but, she's wearing a Cheerios uniform. Plus, isn't she dating Sam, now?"

"That's correct," Rachel says, finding her opportunity and – for lack of better phrasing – seizing it by the testicles, "I am dating Samuel. And, furthermore, I've been promoted to the top of the pyramid. So, the way I see it, you boys should be slushying yourselves."

Azimio turns to Karofsky.

Karofsky turns to Azimio.

They shrug.

Then toss their slushie cups into their own faces.

Rachel's mouth has never opened wider.

***o*O*o***

"Excuse me, but what I am looking at out here does not look like a number one ranked, reigning national champion cheerleading squad. It looks like the third-string women's water polo team got wind of my hearty supply of spare Cheerios uniforms. Ladies, there's far too many of you breathing regularly! Now double time those suicides, Lopez! And Pierce!" Sue yells, turning to the group of Cheerios her other captain is leading in split drills, "I want their asses touching the grass. If their hymens are still intact you're doing it wrong!"

Rachel turns back to face Santana, the remnants of a fearful frown still in place on her face. "Is she always like that?"

"You! With the booty dimples! Off my field!" Sue's voice crackles, thankfully not directed at them, and Santana rolls her eyes, readying the line for another round of body-breaking sprints.

"When she's in a good mood," she answers, clicking the start button on her stopwatch as the line sprints away, Rachel included.

She's pretty fast, Santana surmises, tilting her head to the side as she assesses Rachel's form – for critiquing purposes _only_ – but she figures that's only because her midget legs take less time to reach the ground. Something about having a lower center of gravity, or whatever her brother's always going on about on Sundays when he's watching football.

The point is, Rachel reaches mid-field and is doubling back before the rest of the squad has even reached the forty-yard line.

It's impressive, at the very least.

Also impressive, the complete halt Rachel comes to just before she reaches Santana again.

"What in the-" Santana starts to say but then Quinn speaks and it all becomes clear.

"You're on the Cheerios?!"

She's fuming, basically, and it'd be pretty funny except Quinn's never quite reached those levels of red before, even when she found out Santana'd let slip her pregnancy to Coach.

She's like, Kool-Aid red, okay?

"If I said no would you believe me?" Rachel asks, sincere in her question and before Quinn has a chance to lunge like a lioness attacking the pint-sized wildebeest, Coach struts over, megaphone in hand, Becky at her side.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here? Has the prodigal formerly knocked up mother of a bastard child daughter returned to her senses?"

"You wish," Quinn sneers, her voracity shocking even Sue, "I'm only here to see if it's true that the person who not even a week ago was spouting to me the importance of friendship stabbed me in the back."

"I'm only doing this to help you," Rachel contends, reaching for Quinn's hand but Quinn snatches it back.

"Help me?" Quinn echoes, incredulous. "How is your becoming a Cheerio going to help me?"

"I…" Rachel starts, trying to remember what Brittany and Santana had said to convince her, but that conversation's washed away by the images from today: the appreciative glances, the flirtations, Karofsky's face covered in blue slush. She truly can't remember why she initially joined the Cheerios.

She does know why she wants to _stay_ though.

Uh oh.

"Just save it Rachel," Quinn bites out furiously, turning around and marching up the field.

"I've still got a uniform for you, Q!" Coach Sylvester yells to her departing form.

"Yeah!" Quinn yells back, "Well I know exactly where you can stick it!"

Some of the Cheerios jaws drops, Brittany and Santana's included, but Sue never wavers, her eyes actually growing misty as she stares after the former cheerleader.

"I've taught her so well."

***o*O*o***

_**A lot of people think that because I'm a kid and I can't grow facial hair or whatever that I don't know things.**_

_**But I do.**_

_**I know stuff.**_

_**Like, I know that eating a jar of hot chilies and then downing a glass of chocolate milk is not the best idea.**_

**_Or, getting caught in your sister's bedroom touching _anything _when said sister has the ability to almost break your arm off is something you shouldn't do._**

_**Or, if you grin at the old lady at the movies when she checks your ticket stub, she'll look the other way if you maybe, possibly, go into an R-rated theatre.**_

_**So, like, I'm astute and stuff and I should totally be a detective or something because I notice stuff.**_

**_Like, right now, watching my sister and her best friend (or _possibly _girlfriend now) move around our house like there's some invisible third person between them; my little bro sense goes berserk._**

_**Something's up.**_

_**And I'm gonna find out what.**_

Angeles taps away at his PSP, every so often glancing over the screen to where his sister and Brittany are sitting on the sofa in the family room.

They're presumably watching an episode of _Law & Order: SVU_ but he's pretty sure that if he asks either one of them what the episode is about, they'll both draw blanks 'cause in actuality, they're spending more time pretending not to look at one another.

"Brittany, dear," his mom says, coming into the room with a wooden spoon still steaming from whatever it's been stirring, "Are you staying for dinner?"

Brittany blinks, looking to Santana. "If it's…okay with, San. Can I?"

"What do you mean 'if it's okay with Santana'? Santanita," the woman chastises, eyes hardening as she focuses on her daughter, "Are you fighting with Brittany again?"

"What? Mami, no," Santana says, her cheeks aflame as Brittany laughs.

"Then why would it not be okay for her to stay for dinner? Ay dios mio, eres igual que tu padre. Always fighting with the ones we love," their mother murmurs and as luck with have it, Mr. Lopez is filing down the stairs, distractedly reading the paper. "Isn't that right, Ernesto?"

"Listen to your mother, kids," he answers, never looking up.

"Mira. Do you see? You see what I mean?" Santana's mom says, following behind him on another whirlwind. "Ernesto, your daughter is picking up on your bad habits and I don't like it. Ernesto, estoy hablando a ti. ¡Escuchame!"

"My parents are crazy," Santana murmurs, hiding her face in her hands and Brittany scoots over so that she closes the gap between them on the couch, pulling Santana's hands away gently with a small laugh.

"They're not crazy," Brittany insists, smiling at the slightly darker skin of Santana's cheeks. "Well, maybe just your mom," she amends.

Santana eyes the way Brittany's hands are holding onto hers, Brittany's thumbs brushing along the back of her wrist slowly. Her stomach erupts into a million butterflies and she brings her eyes up, intent on telling Brittany exactly how she's making her feel, but then she sees her brother, video game still going but his eyes trained on them.

"Gotta eye problem, you pre-pubescent freak," she barks at him, the easy moment of just seconds ago gone entirely and Angel's small smile vanishes in an instant.

"I-I…" he starts to say but his sister's already pushing away from Brittany, her skirt twirling as she spins and heads to the kitchen.

"Nice stutter, pervert," she says icily, but she pauses before she leaves the room completely, she turns to look at Brittany, her callous words softening, "C'mon, Britt-Britt. Let's help Mom with dinner."

Brittany leaves him as well, leaving Angel to wonder what exactly is up with his sibling.

***o*O*o***

"Is everything okay?" Blaine asks, maneuvering Kurt's pillow so that it's propped up behind him.

Kurt cautiously shifts his legs, the carefully-prepared lunch of chicken soup and pita bread spread out lovingly on a breakfast in bed tray. "Yes," he assures Blaine, somewhat playfully. "But you do realize I'm not sick sick, don't you?"

Blaine smiles, dropping a gentle kiss onto the uninjured part of Kurt's brow. "And you do realize that chicken soup is an elixir for the soul as well as the body," he mumbles against the skin there before kissing it again. "Smart ass," he adds, chuckling and pulling away at Kurt's exaggerated gasp.

"I'm going to go get you some ginger ale," he announces, pushing up from the bed.

"Let me guess, ginger ale is derived from the ancient magical root of the Greek gods that possesses instantaneous healing power qualities?"

"No. There was a two for one sale at Meijer," Blaine deadpans, giving Kurt a little wink before he leaves, Kurt's genuine laughter echoing in his ears.

Kurt waits until he can hear Blaine's footsteps echoing on the stairs before he pulls his cell phone from its hiding place, unlocking the screen quickly and smiling wide at the one new message icon.

_Heard you're staying at home again today. Tsk, tsk, tsk. What a slacker._

Kurt's smile only widens, already formulating a reply in his mind when Blaine returns with drinks in hand, a curious grin on his face when he sees Kurt tapping away.

"Who ya' texting?" he asks, not in a way meant to be menacing, just genuinely curious but Kurt's eyes grow rounded anyway.

"Um…just, Rachel texting me to feel better," he answers, the lie clumsy in his mouth but Blaine doesn't suspect anything, sliding off his shoes and climbing back into bed next to Kurt and snuggling close, enjoying the warmth Kurt's body provides as his eyes slide shut.

"That's nice," Blaine manages through a yawn. "She really cares about you."

And she's not the only one, Kurt thinks, playing with his soup as Blaine's breaths even out.

He knows better than to broach this topic with Blaine – especially after what happened in the hospital.

_**Start of Flashback**_

"_Alright," the nurse says kindly, keeping her voice low, "It's getting a little crowded in here. One of you boys are gonna have to go."_

_Burt sits in the chair next to the bed, snoring quietly and Kurt's eyes dart back and forth between Colin's and Blaine's, unsure._

_Both of their hands are still in each of his and when Colin goes to pull away, Kurt's grip tightens around it._

_Colin, surprised by the strength in Kurt's grip, glances over at a bristling Blaine before leaning down, placing a delicate kiss to Kurt's forehead with immeasurable care. "I'll call you tomorrow," he says quietly before he's moved away, squeezing Kurt's hand back one more time before turning it loose gently._

_Kurt watches him leave, his chest growing just a tad tighter but then he sees Blaine, sees the annoyed bordering on angry look in his eyes._

_**End of Flashback**_

See, it's weird because Kurt's dating Blaine and Blaine's his boyfriend and he obviously doesn't want to do anything to upset that particular arrangement but…he can have friends right?

Even gay ones?

Even attractive, funny, athletic gay ones?

Another text comes through.

_Feel better, guy. I need a shotgun shopper for my spring wardrobe trip and you're the only guy I know who knows what chartreuse is._

Kurt has to stifle a giggle, a faint trace of color dawning on his cheeks.

He can totally have friends.

***o*O*o***

They're still being weird, Angeles decides.

And, as if to prove his point, Santana nearly drops the bowl of fried corn when Brittany hands it to her, their fingers touching intimately.

Santana smiles, forgetting herself, but then their father clears his throat to mention something about work and a few kernels spill over as her hands give.

"Christo, Santana!" their mother chastises, righting the ceramic bowl. "What is the matter with you this evening? Are you sick?"

Santana blanks, not able to come up with a single lie and Angel jumps in, sensing that she's in trouble.

"Tana said Coach was being extra hard on them at practice today," he offers, spooning a forkful of mashed potatoes into his mouth to sell it, continuing with his mouth full. "That's why she and Brittany looked spanked. Get it? Spanked?"

Their father laughs, quickly covering it up with a cough when his wife turns to glare at him. "Oh, well. That explains it," Ernesto says. "And Nino, no hables con la boca llena."

"I hope that woman isn't driving you girls too hard," their mother says, clucking her tongue a little. "Young ladies shouldn't exert themselves so. Especially during their teenage years and especially if your mother wants plenty of grandchildren."

Angeles snickers as Santana turns shy again and Brittany blushes, even though his mind's eye flashes to an adorable baby niece or nephew for him to spoil, but their father interrupts the moment with a newsflash.

"Would you look at this? It looks like they've found one of those kids," Ernesto announces, turning the page of the newspaper he's been sneakily reading in his lap.

"Ernesto," Louisa scolds, "Dinner time is para la familia, not the news."

"But it's about that boy that got beat up. You know, the gay one?" he says, but whispers the middle word.

Angeles watches Santana's eyes lower to her plate.

"They found one of the boys and he's saying that it was self-defense," Ernesto reads, skepticism coloring his voice. "I'm not sure if I believe that."

"Why not?" their mother sniffs, aggressively fluffing her potatoes. "It's a perfectly believable story."

Ernesto eyes her disbelievingly, completely missing the way Santana scrapes her own plate.

Angeles doesn't.

"C'mon Louisa. It's absurd. And even if it was self-defense, how do you explain away the other two guys getting involved?"

"I'm just saying, if he was coming on to them," Louisa starts, her voice shaking with an emotion Angel can't identify, "Then they are perfectly within their rights to defend themselves."

"Yes, by saying, 'No thanks, I'm not interested'. Not by wailing on someone's face," Ernesto argues.

"I'm done talking about this Ernesto," Louisa says, her tone reeking of finality. "I have my beliefs on the matter and you have yours."

It's quiet for a moment, then, "May I be excused?" Santana asks, her voice shaking heavily. She pushes away from the table and leaves quickly, barely sparing a glance in Brittany's direction before taking off up the stairs.

Angeles watches her go, helpless.

"Um…maybe I should go too," Brittany says/asks.

"Oh, don't worry about Santana honey," Louisa says. "She's always been sensitive to us fighting."

"But I don't think that's it, though," Brittany says, words more hesitant than usual as she chooses them carefully. "It's just, that boy who got beat up. He used to go to our school. And he's kind of our friend, so…"

Louisa looks shocked for a moment before the embarrassment seeps in and Ernesto nods Brittany off, granting the permission she's asked for.

"Go ahead Brittany," he says, turning to look at his wife. "Do you see what you've done?"

"What?" Louisa says defensively. "I didn't know."

"Exactamente," Ernesto says quietly. "But it shouldn't matter. A boy was beaten nearly to death. There is never a just reason for that kind of violence."

"Hey," Angeles says, wolfing down the last of his corn, "Can I go? I'm done."

"Si Papa," Ernesto says, "Put your plate in the sink."

Angeles slinks out of the dining room quickly, dumping his plate off going upstairs through the kitchen; the back staircase.

His socked feet slide against the hardwood floors as he eases along the wall, keeping his presence as quiet as possible until the murmurs from Santana's bedroom grow louder until he can make out the two voices, Santana's frightened and Brittany's calming.

"I can't…" his sister is saying, voice shaking, "I can't ever tell them. They'll kick me out. I know it."

"They won't," Brittany murmurs, reassuring her, "They love you."

"Of course they love me Britt. But sometimes love isn't enough," Santana says. "Kurt's got friends, a boyfriend, a dad who'll beat down anyone who looks at him cross, and he still wound up broken in the hospital. Sometimes there's just not enough love to handle all the hate."

"It won't happen to us," Brittany says and there's a quiet moment in which Angeles agrees with all of his being.

"You don't know that, Britt-Britt," Santana says matter-of-factly and it brooks no argument from Brittany. "I just…we can't do it now. Please understand."

There's another long moment of silence and before he knows what's happening Santana's bedroom door is opening and Brittany's slipping out, crashing right into him.

"Ow," she mumbles, her eyes widening when she recognizes him.

"I won't say anything," he whispers before she can threaten him.

He's no fool.

Sure she smiles a lot and is always giggly, but his memory's long.

And he definitely remembers Brittany shoving him in a closet with the vacuum cleaner going when he was five.

Brittany smiles, only it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Watch her for me."

"Totally," Angeles nods, his voice cracking on the syllables and Brittany laughs a little before ruffling his hair and leaving.

And he will watch her, even if Santana's intent on making it hell.

***o*O*o***

Puck's had plenty of practice climbing in and out of windows but this has got to be the first time he's kind of wondering why he's doing it.

It's not like he wants to bed Finn or anything.

Luckily, the first faces he sees are devoid of any facial hair and belong to bodies housing boobs and – just to clarify – _aren't _Finn so it's all good.

"Explain to me again why we're having a meeting that we don't want Kurt to know about across the hall from Kurt's bedroom?" Artie asks as Finn settles him onto a stack of pillows – the chair'll make too much noise.

(An aside: So, no idea how Artie made it up to Finn's room undetected with the wheelchair but we'll just use Glee magic; which has been known to, as you all know, change people's ages, sexualities, life ambitions, and personalities.)

"Because Finn's co-captain so this is like glee club headquarters," Sam explains with an air of austerity.

Mercedes nods, then frowns. "But, wait, isn't Rachel also a co-captain?"

"Ahem," Finn starts, motioning for them all to gather a little closer, "Let the first super-secret glee club are we gonna sing or not meeting come to order."

"Wicked title man," Puck says.

Finn grins. "You think so?"

"Yeah, it's totally to the point. None of that beating around the bush vagueness like Mr. Schue and his titles for stuff."

"Yeah, you know, that's what I was going for-"

"Oh my God, can you idiots quit yapping?" Santana grumbles, "Some of us have gots more important things to do."

Puck pops an eyebrow. "I don't think Brittany likes being referred to as a thing."

"Moving on," Quinn says, slipping a finger into the belt loop of Santana's jeans before she can manage to leap across the circle at him, easily keeping her in place. "What are our thoughts on this whole thing?"

"It sucks?" Sam offers.

"It blows," Mike adds.

"It sucks and blows," Puck says before brightening, "Hey, you know who else does-"

"Shut up," Lauren snaps quietly, slapping him about the head just as Santana turns to Quinn.

"Seriously," she asks her under her breath, "This guy?"

"Well, I for one think we should still perform," Rachel says.

"No surprises there," Tina quips.

"Guys, let's hear her out, okay?" Sam defends, turning to smile at Rachel. "Go ahead."

"Thanks," Rachel smiles, tucking her hair behind her ear timidly, "But, despite what everyone thinks, I'm not in favor of performing for selfish reasons. I just think that once we win, we will have a platform to speak out against the injustice Kurt's suffered and the archaic contributor to the show choir committee. It's a win-win."

"But, Rachel," Artie disputes, "even if we win, who's going to listen to some high school show choir? At least if we don't perform, we'll have the integrity of our conviction. I say we screw them the only way we can by not performing."

More of the group agrees than not – except for Brittany, who mumbles 'big words make me sleepy' before leaning heavily onto Santana's shoulder – and Rachel starts to have a mini panic attack before Santana's speaking up.

"Okay, so, Daddy Lame Legs has a point, but, what good is one show choir not competing going to do? We might feel good for a little while but, and I think everyone's forgetting this, if we don't win, glee club is over. Kaput. Finito. No more power ballads for Rachel, no more rocking out for Puck, no more flopping around like a wet piece of Ramen for Boy-Chang. Rachel's got the right idea by not performing but," Santana smirks devilishly, "we need to think a little bigger."

"I know that smirk," Puck says through a laugh. "Good times are ahead my friends."

"Well," Finn asks, looking at her, expectantly, "What's the plan?"

***o*O*o***

**Saturday**

Electric.

It's all Will can come up with to define how he feels at this moment, sitting in the auditorium and anxiously awaiting his kids' appearance.

They'd told him mid-week that they were going to go ahead with the competition and asked only that he'd let them decide on a song choice sans his participation and Will, the ever-trusting educator that he is, acquiesced, which explains why right now he feels like a chicken, battered and ready to be fried…

…in an electric skillet.

Hence the electric.

"William."

He curses mentally and wishes he'd had the forethought to dress in camouflage when he sees her. "Sue."

"I have to admit, I didn't think you had to scones to pull something like this off. Poor little Porcelain must be at home right now, crying into his pillow what with the _betrayal_ and all."

"I'll have you know, Sue, that Kurt is behind us one-hundred percent."

"You're talking figuratively, right? Because if I have to add pedophilia onto the already dictionary-long list of reasons why you make a horrible instructor-"

Luckily Sue's current tirade is cut off by the ready bells, signaling to the artists and performers that it's almost time to start.

***o*O*o***

Finn watches the ready lights flash, the churning in his gut thrumming violently at the sound of the announcer starting.

The orange – dear Cheesus, why did they ever agree on orange? – vest and tie he's wearing suddenly feeling very constricting.

"You guys ready?" he says, looking at each and every one of his team's anxious faces.

"This had better work, Santana," Artie grumbles, cutting his eyes at her and she glares back until Brittany's fingers weave between her own.

***o*O*o***

Colin makes his way through the crowd just as the judge introductions are going on, phone still pressed tightly to his ear. "Dude, nothing's happening yet. I told you," Colin laughs out, finally finding a seat.

"_Yes there is. I hear clapping. If nothing's happening why is there clapping_?"

"They're clapping for some wannabe Count Chocula, Kurt. I haven't heard a single note sung yet."

"_This is so nerve-wracking. And what's worst is I don't have a side. It's like, of course I want Blaine to win because, hello, he's my boyfriend. But then the other team has, like, _all _my friends-"_

"Hey now."

"_Well, barring this one other person I know who's kind of cool_."

"Ouch," Colin laughs, "Wait, I think I'm losing reception."

Kurt gasps. "_If you hang up on me I will kill you_."

"Shh," Colin says, settling in. "It's starting."

***o*O*o***

"And now ladies and gentlemen… please welcome to the stage… The Dalton Academy Warblers!"

Rachel's heart just about beats out of her chest when she hears the audience applaud loudly and the seconds seem to stretch on to eternity but when the announcer calls for the Warblers a second time and nothing happens, she starts to feel just a little bit hopeful.

"Do you think they did it?" Puck asks, stupidly at that and Rachel almost wants to hit him and she would if she weren't completely paralyzed with fear.

"I don't hear anything," Mercedes says.

It is dreadfully quiet in their waiting room and they should hear something, anything, but alas, nothing.

When the door knocks, Rachel guesses that about eighty-five percent of them jump – Lauren doesn't seem to care all that much and Brittany looks drowsy at her most alert so no surprises there – and she stands there completely mute as Puck pushes a prone Finn in the direction of the door for him to open it.

An official-looking person wearing a headset pokes his head into the room. "So, the Warblers are not going on and guess what? That means you all got bumped up into the opening slot and that means you go on in now. So, let's go."

"We're not going on," Finn says, more to himself than to the guy but he hears him anyway.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard him, tonto," Santana snaps, going to the door and shooing the man out, "We be's chillin'. Now bye. Leave."

The door closes behind him, the click sounding to Rachel's ears like a gunshot.

Mike sways nervously. "Now what?"

"Now," Quinn sighs, sitting stiffly on one of the chairs, "Now we wait."

***o*O*o***

"I'm sorry, ladies and gentlemen," the announcer says, swallowing nervously as his eyes cut to his off-stage director – who currently is yelling and pulling her hair out – for some indication of what's going on.

The crowd is getting antsy and his anxiety is only elevating the overall temperature in the room of something having gone wrong.

"It looks like there may be some technical difficulties."

Finally, an out of breath man jogs up to the director, giving her a thumbs-up and a semi-smile before the director's facing the announcer and telling him to give the cue.

"Okay, and now, ladies and gentlemen, I present to you, the Dalton Academy-" he cuts himself off, seeing the director's frantic arms waving about, "No, not Dalton? I mean," he says, scrambling through his note cards, from just around the corner, McKinley High's own, Nnnnneeeewww…Jesus, what now? Not them either? Then who?"

The crowd grows a little restless and starts to grumble amongst themselves just as the director holds up a poster board with the name of the third school on it.

"Ladies and gentlemen, give it up for Vocal Adrenaline…hopefully."

***o*O*o***

"Well that was weird," Sue murmurs, unfortunately, sitting directly behind Will.

He rolls his eyes but he can't help thinking the same.

***o*O*o***

"Does it always happen like this?" Colin asks, frowning as the show choir files out into lines on the stage.

"_No…"_ Kurt answers distractedly, as he fires off a text, "_No. Something's going on._"

***o*O*o***

"What the hell man?!" Puck yells.

"Abort. Abort," Sam rattles off, adding to the complete bedlam they're waiting room has turned into.

"It's not…It's probably not what we're thinking," Santana says, completely aghast and disbelieving her own words.

"Oh, is it not Santana? Because that sounds like music to me," Mercedes snaps.

"Leave Santana alone," Brittany snaps back, standing in front of Santana as if to physically shield the girl from their harsh words.

"Yeah, guys, seriously. Chill," Finn says calmly. "This isn't Santana's fault. Vocal Adrenalin is just screwing us over. Again."

"I can't believe we expected anything better of them," Tina says, shaking her head glumly.

"Whatever," Finn shrugs, trying to keep it all together. "They want to play on the other side of things, so be it. We've still got the upper hand here, remember? Two against one?"

He looks around at the group, trying to instill in all of them the feeling of hope he's not quite sure he even possesses.

"We got this."

***o*O*o***

"Okay, so, I'm no Jason DeRulo but that sucked," Colin murmurs when they're finally done and his ears stop bleeding.

"_Agreed,"_ Kurt says, his voice tinny over the phone, "_A mash-up of Dolly Parton and Alanis Morrisette is ambitious at best or-" _

"A train wreck, yeah," Colin finishes for him, not quite sure what's going on now.

He sees Blaine jog out a half-second before Finn and watches him lean over to say something to the announcer whose eyebrows rise before he hands Finn the microphone, gladly leaving the stage.

"Um," Finn says, eyeing the audience warily, trying to find his bearings, "So, I guess you're all probably wondering why I'm not singing yet, and it's because I have a message, well…I mean, we have a message. A friend of ours has been in the news recently, not because he went all Charles Manson or anything but because he was the victim of hate. And while some people, including the gracious gentleman sponsoring this event, thinks nothing wrong of the incident, we think differently. So, tonight, instead of competing against one another, we're joining forces with our competition, in hopes that other people might take notice and realize that hate – whether motivated by personal beliefs and convictions or just plain ignorance – is wrong."

***o*O*o***

"Okay," Finn continues, taking a deep breath and looking offstage to his fellow old (and new) singing mates, "Without out further…stuff to say, I give you the McKinley High New Directions and the Dalton Academy Warblers."

Everyone smiles at him as he jogs offstage to take his position, sweatier than usual.

"Well said, Finn," Mike says proudly, smiling at him.

***o*O*o***

Will is gripping the armrests of his seat so hard that he's pretty sure there's plastic embedded under his nails, still, he can't help the way his breathing halts as Mercedes steps out onto the stage, seemingly alone in front of the darkened curtains.

But when she starts to sing, he knows his kids have this in the bag.

***o*O*o***

_When I find myself in times of trouble, Mother Mary comes to me  
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be_

Blaine strolls out from the shadows as Mercedes holds her last note, taking the next two lines of the song.

_And in my hour of darkness she is standing right in front of me  
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be_

The Warblers and New Directions both file in from the sides of the stage, the two groups so seamlessly interwoven that if it weren't for the uniforms and costumes they're all wearing, you wouldn't know who belongs with whom, all oohing and ahhing their appropriate notes in the background, the perfect accompaniment to Blaine and Mercedes' contrasting voices.

Blaine: _Let it be_

Mercedes: _Let it be_

Blaine: _Let it be_

Mercedes: _Let it be_

Both: _Whisper words of wisdom, Let it be…._

***o*O*o***

Colin smiles a watery smile, prouder than he's ever felt, and somehow still feeling the pang, and it only intensifies when Kurt sniffles in his ear.

***o*O*o***

Rachel takes the closing verse, stepping out of the formation with Finn to her right, and she's moved by the words – and even more so by the swaying audience – so much so that she pours every ounce of feeling into the words she sings.

_And when the night is cloudy there is still a light that shines on me  
Shine until tomorrow, let it be  
I wake up to the sound of music, Mother Mary comes to me  
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be_

She joins hands with Finn as they belt out the last lines, adlibbing over the surging voices behind them, everyone belting out the words they've heard so many times before but seemingly only understanding this very moment.

_Let it be, let it be, let it be, yeah, let it be  
There will be an answer, let it be  
Let it be, let it be, let it be, yeah, let it be  
Whisper words of wisdom, let it be_

***o*O*o***

In the blink of an eye – a slow-blinking eye – it's over and the curtain's drawn and everyone around him is jumping up and clapping and whistling and yelling for more but Will can't find it in him to do any of that.

All he can do is sit there, eyes still misty from what he's just seen.

And when Sue leans up, pats his shoulder gently and whispers into his ear, "Good job", he feels so elated, so full of joy that he just might burst.

…and then reality happens.

***o*O*o***

"Well it looks like you're in luck folks," the announcer says, though he doesn't look at all like he sounds, in fact, Colin's pretty sure that he's about ten seconds away from darting back off the stage, "You'll be the audience at the first ever show choir competition re-sing,"

As expected, his announcement goes over like a wet sock, so he rambles on, speaking over the confused, hushed voices, "While the Ohio Show Choir Committee greatly appreciates the effort and unity of the message, The New Directions and The Warblers will not be permitted to compete as one group, and as a last-ditch effort to maintain the integrity of this contest, the committee is graciously allowing each group to perform another song to submit for judgment. Oh, and any and all parties unwilling to participate will therefore submit their disqualification for competing in this and any other future Ohio Show Choir Committee competitions."

"That's crap!" Colin finds himself shouting when the words unfold in his head, and Kurt – and others around him – echo the sentiment just as the announcer gets the hell out of dodge.

***o*O*o***

"Well, we're not going to perform," Blaine says, his eyes searching over every member of the New Directions so as to convey his sincerity. "I meant what I said and I'm standing by it."

"Yeah, but it looks like your happening homeboys don't second that emotion," Puck says, nodding at the gaggle of Warblers whispering behind Blaine's back.

"Guys," Blaine says, turning around, "What's going on?"

"We've reached a decision," one of the senior Warblers says, "And it's unanimous. We're gonna perform."

Blaine frowns. "What?"

"Look Blaine," another Warbler says, his voice a tad more sympathetic, "We've made our point and our message was heard. What's the point in not going on now?"

"Standing up for what's right in the face of what's wrong," Blaine answers automatically. "At least, that's what we said when we decided to do this a few days ago."

"Okay, here's the deal," the first guy says, ignoring his friends' pleas to quiet, "I get that Kurt's your boyfriend and all, but we're not tossing away our futures for him. So, are you in or are you out?"

Blaine laughs humorlessly, then takes a run at the guy but Mike holds him back easily.

"Whatever," the guy says with a smirk as he straightens his jacket, turning to leave with the rest of the Warblers, "Your loss."

Blaine's breathing slowly evens out before he twists out of Mike's grasp gently.

"So much for Brothers in Blazers, huh?" Santana asks, probably a little too soon but Blaine cracks a smile at that, the levity greatly easing the tension of the moment for almost all of them.

"Alright, I dig the nervous giggles as much as anyone but what are we going to do?" Mercedes asks and everyone looks to Finn.

"Oh, I got nothing this time."

"We could go with one of our stand-bys," Tina suggests.

"Or light ourselves on fire," Santana deadpans at that suggestion. "We might as well hand the damn trophy to the Warblers if we start chanting our da-das to _Don't Stop Believin'_ again. And after the way they just screwed Blaine, I'm kind of in the mood to kick some pleated pants-covered booty."

"I am _so_ with you on that," Rachel agrees distractedly, scrolling through her phone's playlist, "But we _need_ a song."

Brittany shrugs, "I thought all we needed was love."

"Oh, Brittany," Quinn sighs, unexpectedly throwing her arms around the girl in a tight hug, "You and that backwards beautiful mind of yours. I could kiss you right now."

Brittany smirks. "I wouldn't stop you."

***o*O*o***

The Warblers, expectedly, brought the house down. With a number inspired by none other than Elvis – and having conveniently brought along their pairs of blue suede shoes – the boys all shook their impeccably toned bootys to the beat, causing quite the stir among some of the ladies in the audience.

But it was their turn now, and now, they had to shine – and hopefully, the four lads from Liverpool could pull through for them one last time.

Finn starts things off.

_There's nothing you can do that can't be done.  
Nothing you can sing that can't be sung.  
Nothing you can say, but you can learn how to play the game.  
It's easy..._

There's nothing you can't make that can't be made.  
No one you can save that can't be saved.  
Nothing you can do, but you can learn how to be you in time.  
It's easy...

The audience is already singing and clapping along when they get to the chorus, and Blaine, blazer lying in a crumpled heap somewhere on the floor backstage, leads them.

_All you need is love.  
All you need is love.  
All you need is love, love.  
Love is all you need._

Rachel smiles wide, and climbs down the steps of the stage, leading the New Directions as they all span out amongst the aisles, engaging with every person they see.

She finds Mr. Schuester just as she starts to sing.

_There's nothing you can know that can't be known.  
Nothing you can see that isn't shown.  
No where you can be that isn't where you're meant to be.  
It's easy..._

_All you need is love.__  
__All you need is love.__  
__All you need is love, love.__  
__Love is all you need.__  
__All you need is love.__  
__All you need is love.__  
__All you need is love, love.__  
__Love is all you need.__  
__All you need is love.__  
__All you need is love.__  
__All you need is love, love.__  
__Love is all you need._

Tina: _Love is all you need._

Quinn: _Love is all you need._

Blaine: _Love is all you need._

Brittany: _Love is all you need._

Sam: _Love is all you need._

Puck: _Love is all you need._

Santana: _Love is all you need._

All: _All you need is love, love.__  
__Love is all you need…_

***o*O*o***

Kurt, still heavily favoring his right side, paces around his bedroom wondering if he can possibly manage sneaking out in his condition.

His dad's…around and easily has about a forty pound advantage over him, but even a lame Kurt is a little quicker than Burt, right?

None of this would be necessary at all if Blaine would just answer his cell phone.

Or if Colin would.

Or Rachel or Finn or Mercedes or _anyone_.

He's about to wear a hole in his fairly expensive fur throw rug when his dad calls up to him from downstairs.

"Yeah Dad?" Kurt answers worriedly, wondering if the man has somehow cottoned on to his would-be escape plans.

"You uh, wanna take a look out the window?"

The boy's eyebrows slant in befuddlement, but before he can formulate a question in response, he's peering down into their front yard, eyes nearly falling out of his head at the scene below.

All of his friends, Colin included, and boyfriend and former glee instructor, are smiling up at him from the ground, the tallest trophy he's ever seen thrust high into the air by a laughing Finn.

Kurt gasps, quickly unlocking then sliding open his bedroom window, leaning out so far that it looks like he's about to fall.

"Oh my God," he squeals, voice high enough to be heard over the elated shouts and laughter, "What on earth are ya'll wearing?!"


End file.
